UC-NRLF 


"The  building  of  the  hut  in  our  yard." 


P.  70. 


Frontispiece. 


OUR  BOY: 

SIX  STEPS  TO  MANHOOD 


BY 

HARRY  EDWARDS  BARTOW 


With  Illustrations  by 
FRANZ   LESSHAFFT 

And  an  Introduction  by 
A.  E.  WINSHIP,  Ph.D. 

EDITOR  OF  "  JOURNAL  OF  EDUCATION 


IThe  UNION  PRESS 

Philadelphia. 


1816  CHESTNUT  STREET 


Copyright,  1913,  by  the  American  Sunday-School  Union 


A  FOREWORD 
BY  A.  E.  WINSHIP,  PH.D., 

Editor  of  "Journal  of  Education." 


THERE  are  as  many  problems  of  boys  as  there  have  been 
boys  from  Cain  and  Abel  to  my  little  grandsons.  For- 
tunately, these  problems  can  be  classified  as  readily  as  the 
leaves  of  the  forest. 

Very  recent  is  the  scheme  of  identifying  a  criminal  by  the 
imprint  of  his  fingers.  There  are  no  two  finger-tips  in  all  the 
world  that  make  the  same  impression.  There  are  card  cata- 
logues of  thousands  of  impressions  of  the  finger-tips  of  crimi- 
nals, and  so  simple  is  the  classification  that  if  one  has  ever  had 
his  impression  taken  they  can  identify  him  in  hah*  a  minute 
and  read  his  life  history.  I  have  been  in  a  prison  office  when 
there  was  received  a  photograph  of  a  finger-tip  impression 
that  was  being  sent  out  to  all  prisons  that  keep  such  records. 
The  criminal  knew  there  was  no  record  of  his  finger-tips  within 
many  hundred  miles  and  he  felt  entirely  safe  in  putting  up  a 
long  story  that  sounded  as  straight  as  truth.  I  saw  the  official 
look  at  the  impression,  saw  him  classify  it  and  go  from  one 
card  catalogue  to  another  until  he  came  to  a  card  that 
matched  the  photograph  perfectly.  Then  he  went  to  another 
case  and  took  out  the  criminal  record  of  the  desperado. 

As  definitely  may  boy  problems  be  classified  when  we  are 
sufficiently  wise  to  make  a  classification.  Some  time  a  father 
or  mother,  a  teacher  or  preacher  may  know  where  to  look  for 
an  adequate  study  of  a  special  problem  of  a  special  boy.  Of 
course,  this  seems  a  long  way'off ,  but  it  will  not  be  far  off  when 
we  appreciate  the  importance  of  such  information. 

The  first  great  need  is  adequate  books  on  the  problems,  of 
which  at  present  there  are  all  too  few  that  are  wholesome, 


281694 


A  FOREWORD 

definite  and  complete.  One  of  the  best  yet  written  is  "Our 
Boy— Six  Steps  to  Manhood,"  by  Harry  Edwards  Bartow,  in 
which  with  great  skill  and  faithfulness  to  detail  he  tells  the 
story  of  one  boy's  life— personal,  physical,  social,  educational 
and  religious. 

I  have  been  interested  in  boys  and  in  books  about  boys  for 
many  years  and  know  many  of  them.  Many  have  been  disap- 
pointing, so  disappointing  that  at  times  I  have  been  faint- 
hearted; sometimes  I  have  almost  lost  courage  in  the  study  of 
the  problem;  but  here  is  a  book  that  gives  heart,  that  breeds 
hope,  that  renews  zeal  in  the  study. 

This  is  a  positive  contribution.  It  touches  some  entirely 
new  phases  and  gives  new  light  upon  some  old  phases  of  the 
study-  «  is  by  far  the  best  book  that  has  been  written  from 
a  father  s  point  of  view— from  a  wise  father's  point  of  view— 
and  yet  it  is  not  primarily  the  father  who  is  in  the  game,  but 
the  boy. 

The  father  sees  the  boy  in  the  home,  on  the  playground,  with 
his  mates,  with  his  teachers,  with  girls.  He  sees  him  at  work 
as  well  as  at  play,  with  hopes  and  fears,  with  ambitions  and 
aspirations,  with  friends  and  enemies. 

This  study  carries  the  child  up  to  marriage  and  fatherhood, 
which  is  quite  unusual. 

There  are  abundant  indications  of  genuineness  in  the  study. 
We  have  before  us  a  real  infant,  a  real  boy  from  three  to  six, 
from  six  to  nine,  from  nine  to  twelve,  from  twelve  to  fifteen, 
up  to  manhood.  He  is  not  like  all  boys,  but  he  is  a  genuine 
boy,  with  a  noble,  wise,  devoted  father  helping  him  to  come  out 
right  every  time. 

Every  father  who  honestly  desires  to  know  how  to  be  a  good 
father  to  his  boy  should  read  this  book.  It  is  helpful  to  the 
limit  on  every  page.  It  is  a  great  contribution  to  the  study 
of  the  problem  of  boys. 

No  one  has  a  moral  right  to  deal  with  the  boy  problem  in  the 
large  without  carefully  considering  this  boy  as  his  father 
describes  him  at  every  turn  of  his  life. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

STEP  ONE:      INFANCY 11 

STEP  Two:      FROM  THREE  TO  Six 29 

STEP  THREE:  FROM  Six  TO  NINE 47 

STEP  FOUR:    FROM  NINE  TO  TWELVE 69 

STEP  FIVE:     FROM  TWELVE  TO  SIXTEEN 91 

STEP  Six:       FROM  SIXTEEN  TO  MANHOOD.  .  Ill 


PREFACE 


THIS  little  volume  is  a  father's  attempt  to  portray 
the  characteristic  features  of  his  boy's  growth 
and  development.  Perhaps  no  father  can  be  an 
impartial  biographer  of  his  own  child,  yet  only 
sympathetic  love  can  understand  and  interpret 
child-life.  Between  the  parent's  loving  predilection 
and  the  scientific  investigator's  cold  impartiality 
there  may  be  an  intermediate  mental  state  which 
would  carefully  study  childhood  and  honestly  portray 
it;  in  the  preparation  of  this  book,  however,  I  have 
made  no  effort  to  escape  the  point  of  view  of  a  de- 
voted father. 

Without  attempting,  therefore,  to  present  new  or 
original  theories  regarding  child-training,  I  have 
endeavored  to  tell  a  story  true  to  life  in  a  manner 
which  would  appeal  to  all  parents.  Technical  terms 
have  been  carefully  avoided  and  as  many  incidents 
inserted  as  the  limited  space  of  a  small  book  would 
permit;  the  chief  difficulty  of  my  task  has  been  to 
decide  what  to  leave  out. 

And  so,  to  all  fathers  and  mothers,  whose  hearts 
throb  with  hope  of  honorable  and  happy  futures  for 
their  children,  while  they  may  often  tremble  as  they 
think  of  the  dangers  which  threaten  their  young  and 
inexperienced  lives,  this  book  is  dedicated. 


7 


STEP  ONE 
INFANCY 


OUTLINE  OF  THE  PERIOD; 


Preparing  for  and  welcoming  the  babe. 

Regulating  the  response  to  nature's  instincts. 

Affection  at  first  a  selfish  emotion. 

Value  of  the  mother's  touch  and  word. 

Training  primitive  fear  and  anger. 

The  use  of  suggestion  as  a  corrective. 

Unconscious  imitation  of  parental  moods  and  actions. 

Development  through  the  claims  of  the  senses. 

Correct  speech  rather  than  "  baby-talk." 

Gaining  self-confidence  in  learning  to  walk. 


10 


OUR  BOY: 
SIX  STEPS  TO  MANHOOD 


STEP  ONE:  INFANCY 

THE  birds  outside  my  window  this  bright  spring 
morning  are  too  busy  for  much  song;  and  yet 
I  think  their  little  breasts  must  throb  with  joyful, 
song-prompting  emotions,  for  they  are  engaged  in 
the  happiest  task  that  falls  to  the  lot  of  bird  or 
man — nest-building.  As  I  hear  the  constant  flutter 
of  their  wings  among  the  new  leaves,  and  listen  to 
their  quick,  business-like  chirp  as  they  build,  I 
wonder  if  instinct  alone  prompts  this  labor,  or  if 
they  are  intelligently  planning  for  the  future  when 
that  nest  shall  hold  its  precious  burden  of  eggs,  or 
when  little  hungry,  wide-open  bills  shall  reach  for 
the  morsel  which  the  parent  bird  brings. 

Nest-building!  Ah,  yes,  I  know  something  of 
that.  My  memory  plays  me  strange  tricks  these 
days,  but  it  will  never  lose  its  record  of  that  happy 
time.  It  must  have  been  years  back,  for  my  wife's 
rich  brown  hair  has  whitened,  and  my  own  step  has 
lost  its  buoyancy;  yet  so  quickly  does  my  memory 
span  those  years  that  it  seems  but  yesterday  when 
we  began  our  home-making. 

11 


12  OUR  BOY 

We  had  been  boarding  and  thought  we  were 
happy  in  our  freedom  from  household  cares  and 
responsibilities.  Then,  one  night  my  wife  whispered 
low  in  my  ear  something  that  set  us  both  longing 
for  a  home,  and  no  bird  ever  built  more  carefully  for 
the  coming  fledgling  than  we  did  for  that  expected 
baby. 

House-hunting  would  have  been  indeed  discourag- 
ing had  not  my  wife  continued  to  whisper  that  little 
message  of  hope  to  me.  It  was  easy  enough  to  find 
a  house  with  kitchen,  dining-room,  living-room,  and 
bed-rooms  to  suit  us  two,  but  the  nursery  and  the 
play-room  made  the  task  difficult.  You  see,  baby 
was  hard  to  please  even  then;  or,  rather,  it  was  hard 
to  find  anything  which  seemed  to  us  quite  good 
enough  for  him. 

Time  was  too  short  to  secure  perfection.  We 
took  the  best  house  we  could  find  and  afford  and 
furnished  it  quickly — that  is,  all  but  the  nursery. 
We  did  not  furnish  that;  we  garnished  it.  While  my 
wife  sat  in  our  new  home,  humming  over  the  needle 
which  drew  together  queer  little  garments,  I  visited 
the  stores  where  nursery  supplies  were  sold.  The 
most  insignificant  article  was  selected  with  great  care, 
and  always  purchased  with  the  understanding  that 
it  could  be  returned  if  my  wife  disapproved  of  it. 
Sometimes  I  thought  we  should  never  get  every- 
thing. How  often  did  we  go  into  that  room,  sure 
that  it  was  at  last  complete,  only  to  find  something 
else  needed! 


INFANCY  13 

Troublesome  times,  you  think?  Then  you  have 
never  built  a  nest.  No,  no!  the  happiest  time  for 
man  or  bird  is  the  nest-building  time.  I  who  declare 
it  have  lived  through  many  experiences.  Of  all  the 
bright,  happy  days  of  my  life,  there  are  none  I  long 
to  live  over  again  as  I  do  those  few  months  pre- 
ceding our  first  child's  birth.  Gladly  would  I  give 
many  years  of  this  later  life  if  I  could  have  back  those 
few  months.  Anxious  days?  Yes,  of  course,  but 
through  them  all  hope  ruled  and  our  hearts  were 
glad. 

Finally,  the  little  despot  came  to  take  possession  of 
the  home  we  had  made  for  him,  and  soon  proved  him- 
self as  well  qualified  to  rule  as  we  were  willing  to 
obey.  I  was  pacing  the  library  when  the  new  grand- 
mother stopped  at  the  door  just  long  enough  to  say, 
"It's  a  boy.  You  may  go  up  now." 

I  went  up;  I  greeted  the  mother  as  she  lay  pale  and 
exhausted,  but  with  a  new  happiness  in  her  face;  I 
bent  over  the  little  crib  and  saw  my  first  child.  Was 
I  disappointed?  I  am  not  sure  it  was  just  that,  but 
what  I  saw  did  startle  me.  In  hoping  that  it  might 
be  a  boy,  I  had  been  dreaming  of  a  man-child;  and 
this  was  neither  boy  nor  man,  but  the  pinkest  mite  of 
humanity  I  had  ever  beheld. 

As  I  went  down  the  stairs  a  new  thought  that  sud- 
denly flashed  upon  me  made  me  pause  on  the  landing. 
"No,"  I  muttered,  "he  is  not  a  little  man  at  all,  but 
an  infant,  and  altogether  different  from  the  man  he 
will  some  day  be.  What  an  infinite  number  of 


14  OUR  BOY 

things  must  enter  into  that  life  before  it  reaches 
manhood,  and  I  must  furnish  a  father's  share  of 
those  things."  I  never  before  knew  responsibility 
as  in  that  hour. 

I  went  into  the  library  and  stood  at  the  window. 
Across  the  street,  where  a  new  building  was  being 
erected,  some  mistake  had  been  made  and  workmen 
were  tearing  down  a  part  of  the  wall.  "  You  workers 
with  material  things,"  I  thought,  "can  tear  down  the 
faulty  construction,  but  can  I  do  that  with  this  new 
life  I  am  to  help  build?"  "No,"  I  replied  to  my 
query,  "  whatever  goes  into  this  young  life  goes  there 
to  stay.  I  cannot  tear  it  down  nor  correct  it,  neither 
can  I  do  to-morrow  with  this  child  the  things  I  should 
have  done  to-day,  for  the  life  will  constantly  change. 
The  Infinite  Wisdom  that  planned  the  blade,  the  ear, 
the  corn,  planned  also  the  progressive  development 
of  this  human  life.  Each  period  will  have  its  pecu- 
liar needs,  dangers,  and  possibilities.  Shall  I  be  able 
to  satisfy  the  needs,  guard  against  the  dangers, 
accomplish  the  possibilities?  God  help  me!  It  is 
a  parent's  task.  I  dare  not  and  cannot  shirk  it." 

I  had  taken  pride  in  my  knowledge  of  the  develop- 
ment of  the  human  soul  and  the  intellect.  Here  was 
opportunity  for  a  more  practical  study  of  the  subject : 
to  apply  the  knowledge  I  believed  I  possessed  and  to 
make  some  experiments.  But  stop!  What  right 
had  I  to  experiment  with  a  human  life,  an  immortal 
soul?  Might  not  the  laws  controlling  the  develop- 
ment of  the  intellect  and  the  soul  be  as  positively 


INFANCY  15 

known  and  stated  as  those  governing  the  growth  of 
corn?  And  if  so,  was  it  not  a  fearful  sin  to  make  a 
mistake  with  a  life?  As  I  argued  in  this  fashion, 
there  came  to  me  with  new  meaning  the  text, 
"Whatsoever  a  man  soweth,  that  shall  he  also  reap." 
God  himself  had  furnished  the  soil  in  this  new  life, 
and  I  would  be  one  of  the  sowers.  What  would  the 
harvest  be?  True,  the  soil  contained  many  of  the 
impurities  which  the  race  had  been  gathering  through 
the  ages — impurities  which  reduced  its  fertility;  but 
it  was  still  capable  of  nourishing  and  developing 
good  seeds  to  an  abundant  harvest. 

I  was  impatient  and  wanted  to  begin  the  sowing 
at  once,  but  baby  lay  for  several  days  without  any 
indication  of  being  conscious  of  his  environment, 
and,  in  my  ignorance,  I  chafed  a  little  at  what  seemed 
the  utter  unpreparedness  of  the  soil. 

I  was  wrong,  for  we  were  planting  from  the  very 
beginning.  Baby  came  into  this  world  with  instincts 
which  immediately  began  to  assert  themselves. 
They  were  few  in  number  at  first,  for  economical 
nature  furnished  him  only  with  those  needed  for  self- 
preservation,  and  with  our  foresight  and  care  we 
were  prepared  to  do  everything  for  him  except  breathe 
and  digest  his  food. 

The  little  lips  instinctively  sought  nourishment. 
The  nurse  insisted  on  regularity  in  everything,  es- 
pecially in  eating,  and  baby  soon  became  quite 
punctual. 

"Why,  the  little  fellow  can  tell  time,"  I  used  to 


16  OUR  BOY 

declare  when  I  had  watched  him  lie  perfectly  quiet 
until  the  very  minute  of  the  feeding-period  and  then 
suddenly  begin  to  fret. 

The  nurse  laughed.  Then  her  face  became  serious 
as  she  said,  "If  you  want  this  child  to  have  confi- 
dence in  you  and  faith  in  God,  do  not  disappoint  him 
now  in  these  things." 

Wise  nurse,  she  knew  there  was  growing  an  im- 
mortal soul  as  well  as  a  physical  body,  and  she  under- 
stood both  the  hygiene  of  health  and  the  laws  of 
spirituality.  Correct  and  regular  habits  were  good 
for  our  baby's  body,  but  better  still  for  his  soul.  A 
day  would  come  when  I  should  want  to  teach  this 
child  about  God  and  inspire  him  with  confidence 
and  faith  in  the  great  Invisible  One.  Upon  what 
should  I  base  that  teaching  if  I,  his  visible  father, 
did  not  deserve  his  confidence  and  faith? 

Instinct  drove  baby  to  the  mother's  breast.  The 
gratification  of  the  sense  of  taste  awakened  in  him  a 
love  for  the  breast  that  fed  him,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  he  learned  to  love  the  mother  who  nursed  him. 
One  of  the  highest  emotions  which  could  thrill  his 
heart  in  manhood, — love  for  the  mother  who  bore 
him, — had  its  roots  deep  down  in  that  instinct  which 
he  brought  with  him  from  the  pre-natal  world. 
True,  it  was  a  selfish  affection,  for  he  cared  most  for 
those  who  did  most  for  him;  but  we  knew  that  if  the 
affection  was  carefully  nurtured  until  the  awakening 
of  the  altruistic  emotion,  it  would  broaden  into 
beautiful,  unselfish  love. 


INFANCY  17 

Every  instinct  of  self-preservation  demanded  that 
baby  use  his  utmost  endeavor  to  escape  all  physical 
discomfort.  He  cried  long  before  he  laughed,  be- 
cause nature  provided  him  with  this  method  of 
summoning  help  in  time  of  pain  or  danger.  It  was 
mother's  voice  that  soothed  him  quickest,  mother's 
touch  that  brought  surest  and  speediest  relief  from 
discomfort.  I  never  before  realized  the  therapeutic 
value  of  a  mother's  caress,  a  mother's  kiss.  Our 
baby  soon  learned  the  efficacy  of  these  things.  A 
gentle  word  from  mother  quieted  him  as  nothing 
else  could;  a  caress  from  mother  soothed  him  when 
all  other  things  failed,  a  kiss  from  mother's  lips 
healed  the  hurt  better  than  any  other  ointment; 
mother's  arms  were  always  a  safe  refuge,  no  matter 
whether  it  were  pain  or  grief  or  fear  that  drove  him 
there. 

How  often  did  I  hear  him  cry  out  with  some  sud- 
den pain  or  fright,  and  watch  capable  but  strange 
hands  vainly  endeavor  to  ease  or  soothe  him.  Then 
mother  came:  the  little  hands  reached  out  for  her; 
the  troubled  head  nestled  on  her  shoulder,  while  with 
one  last  catch  of  the  breath,  one  final  sob,  the  trouble 
ended, — for  mother  held  him,  mother  whispered  to 
him,  mother  kissed  him.  The  only  soothing-syrup 
our  baby  ever  knew  was  mother's  love  and  gentleness. 

Baby  instinctively  feared  some  things,  such  as 
darkness,  a  strange  face  that  came  suddenly  into  the 
field  of  his  vision,  a  rapidly  moving  object,  or  a  loud 
noise,  especially  when  accompanied  by  a  jar.  These 


18  OUR  BOY 

were  useful  fears  to  guard  his  welfare  at  a  time  when 
the  reason  was  unable  to  distinguish  between  real  and 
imaginary  dangers — for  they  were  as  real  to  him  as  if 
they  were  as  great  as  he  thought  them  to  be. 

Since  this  fear  wras  a  part  of  his  emotional  nature 
and  not  under  the  control  of  what  little  reasoning 
or  will  power  he  had,  it  was  useless  to  tell  him  not  to 
fear,  but  before  the  feeling  could  be  dispelled  it  was 
necessary  to  remove  the  impression  that  he  was  about 
to  receive  some  injury.  This  could  be  done  either 
by  the  removal  of  the  threatening  object  or  by  the 
mother  or  myself  going  to  his  rescue.  At  this  time 
we  never  attempted  to  force  him  into  association 
with  the  things  he  feared,  but  shielded  him  from  them 
as  much  as  possible.  As  a  result,  there  developed 
in  him  a  confidence  in  our  ability  to  protect  him 
which  a  few  years  later  became  the  sure  foundation 
for  our  teaching  of  God's  infinite  care  and  protection. 

Both  fear  and  anger  were  protective  instincts  in 
primitive  man.  When  the  danger  was  too  great  for 
him  to  cope  with,  fear  drove  him  from  it;  but  wrhen 
there  was  a  possibility  of  mastering  it,  anger  urged 
him  to  fight  in  defense  of  his  rights  and  property. 
Our  baby  inherited  an  instinctive  anger  which  both 
the  mother  and  I  laughingly  blamed  on  the  race 
rather  than  on  ourselves.  He  was  always  ready  to 
quarrel  with  what  did  not  please  him.  He  scolded 
long  before  he  could  talk,  and  the  "Ah"  which  indi- 
cated temper  was  the  expression  he  retained  longest 
in  infancy.  In  fact,  it  became  a  serious  problem  how 


INFANCY  19 

we  should  break  him  of  "  Ahing  "  and  striking,  with- 
out utterly  destroying  the  instinctive  anger  which  he 
would  need  later  in  order  to  fight  a  man's  battles. 
To  inflict  corporal  punishment  for  it  only  drove  him 
into  a  frenzy  and  increased  his  lack  of  control;  while 
to  ignore  it  entirely  would  permit  the  development  of 
an  unreasonable  and  uncontrolled  combativeness 
which  would  set  him  at  enmity  with  every  one. 

If  he  "  Ahed"  at  mother,  I  caressed  her  and  would 
not  play  with  a  boy  who  was  so  rude  to  her;  if  he 
"Ahed"  at  his  baby,  we  took  it  from  him,  and  loved 
and  spoke  kindly  to  it;  if  he  "Ahed"  at  children  who 
came  to  play  with  him,  he  was  taken  out  of  the  game. 
It  was  a  long  and  hard  process  before  he  learned  that 
uncontrolled  anger  brought  him  some  loss. 

We  found  him  wonderfully  amenable  to  suggestion, 
and  often  used  this  as  a  corrective  method.  He  had 
a  habit  of  fretting  at  night  and  disturbing  our  rest. 
After  making  certain  that  there  was  no  physical 
reason  for  this,  we  tried  suggestion.  When  we  put 
him  to  bed  we  repeated  quietly,  "  Charles  will  sleep 
soundly  all  night.  He  will  not  cry.  Mother  and 
father  are  tired  and  want  to  rest.  Charles  must 
not  cry,  for  that  will  disturb  them.  Charles  is  a 
good  boy  and  loves  mother  and  father,  so  he  will 
sleep  all  night  and  not  waken  them." 

After  repeating  this  for  a  number  of  nights  we 
broke  him  of  the  habit. 

Our  moods  and  actions  also  had  a  suggestive  value. 
Real  voluntary  imitation  did  not  develop  strongly  in 


20  OUR  BOY 

him  until  a  few  years  later;  but  there  was  reflex  imi- 
tation from  the  very  beginning,  for  from  early  infancy 
he  reflected  our  moods  and  feelings. 

Now,  since  one  of  the  best  ways  to  develop  an 
emotion  is  to  practice  its  physical  expression,  we 
quickly  realized  that  if  we  wished  baby  to  be  of  a 
happy  disposition  we  must  be  cheerful  in  his  presence, 
for  he  unconsciously  experienced  the  emotion  whose 
physical  expression  appeared  in  our  faces.  When  we 
laughed,  he  was  cheerful;  when  we  looked  blue,  he 
felt  disagreeable. 

I  do  not  mean  that  he  was  a  bit  of  clay  which  we 
could  mold  to  suit  our  own  pleasure  and  desires.  We 
found  the  clay  theory  to  be  but  a  half-truth.  He 
possessed  the  plasticity  of  clay,  but  not  its  dumb  in- 
ertness. Within  his  little  body  was  a  will  which 
early  began  to  assert  itself, — a  will  not  to  be  broken, 
but  to  be  taught  the  control  of  other  faculties  and 
their  emotions.  There  was  also  some  stubbornness, 
requiring  careful  treatment  to  produce  the  stick-to-it- 
iveness  of  maturity,  without  which  we  could  scarcely 
hope  he  might  accomplish  anything  worth  while. 

We  found  that  every  instinct  he  brought  into  this 
life  could  be  trained  either  upward  or  downward,  and 
that  nurture  at  this  period  was  largely  a  matter  of  the 
proper  direction  and  control  of  his  instinctive  tenden- 
cies. The  closer  we  watched  his  growth,  the  more  we 
marvelled  at  God's  wonderful  provisions  to  insure 
his  development.  All  knowledge  of  the  outside  world 
reached  him  through  his  physical  senses,  and  each 


INFANCY  21 

organ  of  sensibility  seemed  to  possess  an  instinctive 
desire  for  gratification.  Taste  demanded  food,  and 
he  put  into  his  mouth  everything  upon  which  he 
could  get  his  hands;  the  eye  asked  for  light,  and  he 
was  attracted  by  every  bright  object;  the  ear  de- 
manded sound,  and  he  delighted  in  making  a  noise; 
touch  required  something  to  feel,  and  his  hands 
reached  out  for  everything.  Each  organ  appeared 
to  have  an  instinct  which  sought  to  prolong  the  life 
of  that  organ  and  rightly  develop  it  by  the  exercise 
of  its  function.  Only  through  this  tasting,  seeing, 
hearing,  and  feeling  could  he  learn  anything  at  all;  so 
the  incessant  demand  of  each  organ  that  it  be  used 
forced  him  to  be  constantly  acquiring  knowledge. 

What  an  infinite  number  of  things  he  had  to  learn 
and  how  apt  he  really  was !  It  is  a  tremendous  task 
to  acquire  a  language  when  there  is  no  knowledge  of 
any  other  language  to  build  upon.  I  think  baby 
learned  to  speak  his  first  words  because  he  saw  that 
his  efforts  pleased  us;  but  I  believe  he  learned  more 
by  noticing  that  his  mother  and  I  obtained  what  we 
wished  by  making  certain  sounds,  so  when  he  wanted 
something  for  himself  he  tried  to  imitate  the  sounds. 

After  he  learned  a  few  words  he  became  so  pro- 
ficient in  using  them  and  in  making  gestures  that  it 
was  quite  easy  for  us  to  understand  his  desires.  For 
a  long  time  it  seemed  impossible  to  get  him  to  in- 
crease his  vocabulary,  so  that  finally  it  became  neces- 
sary to  refuse  to  understand  him  until  he  had  ex- 
pressed his  wants  clearly. 


22  OUR  BOY 

He  selected  his  own  names  for  many  things  and 
often  gave  us  illustrations  of  how  language  is  built  up. 
Of  course,  the  names  he  applied  frequently  indicated 
some  characteristic  he  observed  in  the  object:  dogs 
were  "bow-wows"  and  cows  were  "moos."  Dirt 
of  all  kinds  was  "ku"  because  it  was  nasty.  We 
helped  him  name  his  baby  Harry.  One  day  when 
he  was  about  a  year  old  I  was  pulling  him  on  a  sled 
when  he  accidentally  dropped  Harry  in  the  snow. 
Instantly  he  began  to  cry  and  repeated  over  and  over, 
"Kii-Harry,  kii-Harry,"  meaning  that  Harry  had 
snow  on  him.  Not  until  he  was  over  three  years  old 
did  he  call  snow  by  any  other  name  than  "Ku- 
Harry,"  and  so  closely  associated  was  the  snow  with 
his  sled  that  for  a  long  time  it  too  was  a  "  Ku-Harry." 

We  never  resorted  to  baby-talk  when  speaking  to 
him,  always  regarding  it  as  unintelligible  gibberish 
which  no  child  would  ever  speak  of  itself.  On  the 
contrary,  we  used  the  purest  and  most  correct  English 
that  we  could  command  and  always  encouraged  him 
to  do  the  same.  Simple  Anglo-Saxon,  the  language 
of  childhood,  was  our  aim. 

As  we  shunned  negative  training  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, we  did  not  tell  him  that  he  spoke  incorrectly,  but 
we  repeated  his  expressions  correctly  until  he  learned 
the  proper  form. 

"Me'll  catch  you,  father,"  he  said. 

"I  will  catch  you,  Charles,"  I  answered,  and  con- 
tinued the  game  until  he  responded  with,  "I  will 
catch  you,  father." 


He  dropped  Harry  in  the  snow. 


P.  22. 


INFANCY  23 

I  was  not  always  consistent  in  this.  "Where  is 
you,  father?"  he  called  many  times.  And  the  call 
was  so  sweet  to  me. that  I  could  never  correct  the 
sentence.  In  fact,  the  first  time  I  heard  him  say 
"Where  are  you,  father?"  I  felt  I  had  suffered  some 
real  loss.  I  know  that  I  would  not  wish  him  to  be  a 
child  again, — for  I  am  proud  of  the  noble  man  he  has 
become, — but  often,  when  the  house  seems  quiet  and 
empty,  I  hunger  for  that  sweet  voice  calling,  "  Where 
is  you,  father?" 

Since  the  days  when  baby  learned  to  walk  I  have 
regarded  walking  as  quite  a  feat.  To  balance  the 
body  and  to  move  forward  by  a  series  of  steps  and 
falls  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  learn.  How  great  the 
distance  between  mother  and  me  must  have  seemed 
to  him  when  he  first  attempted  to  toddle  from  one  to 
the  other!  I  can  see  him  yet,  with  his  little  dress 
tied  back,  prancing,  jumping,  eager  to  make  the  at- 
tempt, yet  hanging  on  to  my  finger  as  long  as  he 
could;  then,  a  quick  catching  of  the  breath  as  he 
found  himself  unsupported,  a  few  uncertain  steps,  a 
fall  forward — and  mother  had  him. 

In  early  infancy  his  muscular  movements  seemed 
to  result  from  impulse  within  his  body  rather  than 
from  stimulation  without;  for  he  appeared  to  be 
totally  unconscious  of  his  environment,  and  the 
different  parts  of  his  body  moved  independently  or 
without  any  relation  to  the  movements  of  the  other 
parts.  In  a  short  time,  however,  there  was  more  har- 
mony of  action;  the  eye  turned  toward  the  source  of 


24  OUR  BOY 

sound  and  there  was  a  tendency  to  move  the  body 
toward  an  object  for  which  he  reached. 

He  was  but  a  few  weeks  old  when  he  began  to  hold 
his  head  erect,  and  when  three  months  old  he  could 
pull  himself  into  a  sitting  posture  and  retain  his 
equilibrium.  He  early  began  to  push  against  any- 
thing his  feet  touched  and  to  jump  if  held  upright. 

We  did  not  hurry  him  in  walking,  believing  that 
his  natural  tendency  to  be  erect,  together  with  the 
normal  curiosity  of  childhood  which  prompted  him  to 
move  from  object  to  object,  would  be  sufficient  to 
induce  him  to  walk  as  soon  as  he  was  able. 

Even  after  he  learned  the  physical  movements,  it 
was  some  time  before  he  had  enough  confidence  in 
himself  to  walk  alone,  and  when  he  did  make  the  first 
successful  effort  he  was  unconscious  of  it.  If  he 
were  standing  beside  a  chair  and  was  attracted  by 
some  object  on  the  table  he  would  walk  the  few  steps 
without  thinking;  but  if  his  mother  or  I  drew  his 
attention  to  what  he  was  doing  he  invariably  fell. 
Once  he  walked  entirely  around  his  mother  before  he 
realized  that  he  was  unsupported.  We  were  careful 
that  he  did  himself  no  serious  injury,  but  we  did  not 
constantly  hold  him  nor  catch  at  him,  as  we  feared 
that  these  things  would  reduce  his  self-reliance  and 
possibly  make  him  nervous. 

What  a  sweet,  happy  little  toddler  he  was!  Al- 
ways under  our  feet,  but  never  in  the  way.  A  little 
adventurer,  getting  into  all  kinds  of  places;  discover- 
ing more  things  in  a  day  than  a  Columbus  could  in  a 


INFANCY  25 

lifetime;  taking  apart  everything  he  got  his  hands  on, 
and  learning  more  secrets  in  a  few  hours  than  an 
Edison  could  in  years.  Growing,  learning,  develop- 
ing, changing  each  day,  unfolding  along  kthe  lines 
God  had  marked  out  for  him. 


STEP  TWO : 
FROM  THREE  TO  SIX 


•27 


OUTLINE  OF  THE  PERIOD 


The  father's  notebook. 

Incessant  activity  of  the  little  body.  ( 

Educative  value  of  play. 

Impersonating  characters. 

Imitating  his  elders. 

Curiosity  promoting  investigation. 

The  "why"  period. 

Responsive,  though  still  self -centered,  in  his  affection. 

Making  right-doing  easy. 

Unquestioning  faith  in  parents. 

Religious  development: 

Love  for  the  early  Old  Testament  stories. 

Learning  God's  goodness  through  His  works. 

Losing  fear  of  the  all-seeing  God  by  learning  of 
His  love. 

Lessons  of  life  from  the  plants. 


STEP  TWO:  FROM  THREE  TO  SIX 

AS  the  census  enumerator  counts  I  had  only  one 
boy;  but  as  I  look  back  upon  that  boy's  devel- 
opment I  know  that  I  had  six  in  one,  for  in  the  differ- 
ent periods  of  his  life  there  were  such  great  changes 
that  he  was  really  six  different  boys.  If  I  had  real- 
ized this  more  fully  at  the  time  and  responded  more 
quickly  to  his  changing  characteristics,  I  might  have 
been  of  greater  help  to  him. 

My  second  boy  began  to  live  when  the  first  was 
about  three  years  old.  I  say  "about  three,"  not 
because  I  have  no  clear  recollection  of  the  exact  time, 
but  because  the  change  was  gradual.  He  did  not 
pass  suddenly  from  one  period  to  another,  but  almost 
imperceptibly  the  characteristics  of  infancy  gave 
place  to  those  of  childhood,  and  the  change  came  as 
silently  as  the  corn  forms  in  the  ear.  God  has  de- 
creed that  progressive  development  shall  be  gradual. 

I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  forget  any  important 
incident  in  my  boy's  development.  Each  event 
made  too  strong  an  impression,  and  I  have  lived  over 
the  incidents  too  many  times,  for  my  brain  to  lose 
its  record  of  them.  Besides,  among  my  real  treas- 
ures is  a  memorandum-book  in  which  is  recorded 
even  the  smallest  detail  regarding  his  earlier  years. 
The  binding  of  the  book  is  worn,  many  of  the  leaves 
are  loose  from  much  handling;  unless  the  boy  claims 

29 


30  OUR  BOY 

it  when  I  am  gone  it  will  go  into  some  waste-basket; 
but  I  know  his  father  will  never  be  through  with  it 
until  he  goes  where  perfect  knowledge  makes  written 
records  unnecessary. 

What  happy  memories  that  old  book  recalls! 
When  it  was  written  I  was  living  in  a  busy  present 
and  dreaming  of  future  achievement.  Now  I  am 
living  largely  in  a  happy  past  and  thinking  of  that 
other  and  changeless  future.  The  present  is  of 
chief  interest  as  it  brings  me  tidings  of  a  strong, 
pure  man  who  calls  me  "father." 

Our  boy  carried  over  into  this  second  period  of  his 
life  much  of  the  old  restlessness  of  babyhood,  but 
stimulation  was  more  often  from  without  the  body 
than  from  within.  Everything  attracted  him, 
aroused  his  curiosity,  urged  him  to  action.  He  was 
in  constant  motion  and  I  often  marveled  at  his  phys- 
ical endurance.  How  many  steps  those  dancing 
little  feet  took  in  a  day,  never  stepping  when  they 
could  jump,  never  walking  when  they  could  run. 
Ah,  it  must  be  splendid  to  have  every  organ  in  one's 
body  brand-new  and  in  perfect  working  order !  How 
many  things  the  busy  little  hands  found  to  do,  getting 
into  no  end  of  trouble  and  causing  mother  much  extra 
work.  Not  a  muscle  of  his  body  was  slighted,  as  the 
demand  of  each  for  exercise  was  too  strong  to  pass 
unheeded.  It  almost  made  my  own  back  ache 
sometimes  just  to  see  him  twist  and  squirm. 

"Oh,  Charles,  aren't  you  too  tired  for  that?"  I 
asked  many  times.  But  the  happy  little  fellow  only 


FROM  THREE  TO  SIX  31 

laughed  back  at  me  and  continued  to  romp  until  he 
almost  dropped  from  exhaustion. 

His  brain  was  just  as  restless  as  his  body.  It 
could  not  concentrate  its  attention  any  more  than 
the  body  could  remain  in  a  state  of  rest.  A  story 
must  be  full  of  thrilling  incidents  which  he  could 
appreciate,  to  hold  his  attention  to  the  end. 

He  would  not  long  continue  at  any  one  game  or 
occupation.  "Let's  play  that  this  couch  is  a  boat, 
father/'  he  would  say.  And  before  the  boat  could 
reach  its  next  landing,  "This  is  a  car  now,  father." 
Then,  ere  the  car  had  fairly  started,  "Oh,  father, 
let's  play  that  we  are  animals."  Down  on  the  floor 
must  we  go  on  hands  and  knees,  while  mother  smiled 
as  she  darned  another  pair  of  little  stockings. 

We  recognized  in  this  restlessness  of  body  and 
brain  God's  wonderful  method  of  insuring  rounded 
development.  If  he  had  used  only  certain  parts  of 
his  body  he  would  have  grown  into  a  physical  freak; 
if  he  had  possessed  the  ability  to  concentrate  his 
attention  on  one  subject  for  long  periods  of  time  he 
would  have  become  a  mental  freak.  God  knew  what 
was  best  for  our  boy  and  nature  stood  always  ready  to 
lend  a  hand.  Plenty  of  time  for  specializing  later  in 
life.  God  plans  for  symmetrical  growth  and  devel- 
opment in  childhood. 

These  years  brought  more  harmony  of  action  be- 
tween the  different  parts  of  his  body.  The  brain  was 
able  to  compel  several  muscles  to  act  together  for  the 
carrying  out  of  its  purposes.  Especially  was  this 


32  OUR  BOY 

true  of  the  larger  muscles,  such  as  those  of  the  arms 
and  legs.  There  was  still  some  trouble  with  the 
smaller  muscles,  such  as  those  of  the  fingers,  and 
sense  perception  was  not  always  sufficiently  clear  to 
direct  definitely. 

He  could  run  straight  to  a  certain  point  or  place 
his  hands  immediately  upon  a  desired  object;  but 
when  I  made  two  points  on  a  piece  of  paper  and  asked 
him  to  draw  a  line  between  them,  he  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  getting  his  pencil  on  the  first  point,  and  the 
line  ended  almost  anywhere  except  at  the  objective- 
point.  When  I  drew  a  letter  and  asked  him  to  trace 
it,  his  pencil  invariably  went  off  at  a  tangent  from 
the  line  to  be  followed.  He  was  more  successful  in 
hitting  the  head  of  a  nail  with  a  hammer,  but  greater 
interest  and  more  practice  assisted  here,  for  we  lived 
in  a  community  which  was  rapidly  growing,  and  he 
was  very  much  interested  in  the  building  operations. 

The  happy  little  fellow  played  all  day  long,  and  his 
play  at  that  age  consisted  largely  of  instinctive  or  imi- 
tative acts.  In  obedience  to  nature's  demand,  even 
his  play  had  an  educative  value;  for  nature  insists 
that  young  animals  in  their  sports  use  the  faculties 
and  muscles  they  will  require  for  maintenance  or  de- 
fense in  later  life,  and  so  makes  play  an  important 
factor  in  the  preservation  of  the  species. 

That  our  play  might  be  as  natural  and  helpful  as 
possible,  I  allowed  the  boy  to  plan  and  direct  it,  and 
I  cheerfully  took  the  part  he  assigned  me.  He  was 
usually  ready  for  any  suggestion  which  would  make 


He  put  me  to  bed  on  the  couch." 


P.  33. 


FROM  THREE  TO  SIX  33 

the  play  more  interesting,  but  would  not  willingly 
submit  to  my  entire  leadership.  He  himself  was 
leader  and  I  must  do  as  he  decreed.  I  did  not  always 
get  my  turn  in  the  games  either,  for  he  demanded  an 
unequal  share  of  the  fun;  but  I  was  sure  that  the 
matter  of  turns  would  adjust  itself  when  his  social 
instincts  became  stronger.  Oh,  he  was  a  little  dic- 
tator, and  I  fetched  and  ran  and  crawled  as  he  com- 
manded! 

From  the  days  he  began  to  creep  he  delighted  in 
games  of  chase.  At  first  I  was  always  the  pursuer, 
but  later  he  occasionally  took  that  part  in  the  game. 
I  suppose  the  human  race  has  retained  some  instinct 
from  the  days  when  man  depended  upon  his  speed  for 
safety,  and  baby  inherited  an  instinctive  tendency 
to  play  such  games. 

The  game  I  liked  best  was  to  pretend  that  I  was 
the  little  boy  and  he  the  father.  Even  in  this  game, 
where  we  exchanged  personalities,  he  did  not  allow 
me  to  lead.  I  must  be  the  kind  of  little  boy  he  said 
and  must  do  as  he  directed.  How  very  careful  he 
was  of  me  as  he  put  me  to  bed  on  the  couch,  or  took 
me  for  a  ride  on  the  big  rocking-chair,  or  for  a  walk 
into  the  next  room.  I  can  still  feel  the  caress  of  the 
little  arms  that  encircled  my  neck  when  he  bade  me 
go  to  sleep,  the  touch  of  the  soft  little  hands  which 
helped  me  into  the  carriage,  the  pressure  of  each  arm 
that  wound  about  my  legs  to  carry  me  over  some 
rough  place  in  the  road.  I  liked  the  game  because  I 
prized  his  caress,  and  because  he  unconsciously 


34  OUR  BOY 

learned  many  lessons  of  thoughtfulness  and  kindness. 
He  is  still  considerate  in  his  care  of  me,  but  now  it  is 
the  strong  man's  protection  of  one  he  thinks  weaker 
than  himself.  I  laugh  sometimes  when  he  takes  my 
arm  on  the  street,  for  I  think  of  the  far-off  days  when 
a  little,  curly-haired  toddler  played  "father"  to  me. 

As  he  grew  older  he  liked  more  strenuous  games. 

"Let's  play  some  new  rough  game,  father,"  he 
would  say  many  times.  He  was  a  real  boy  then, 
running,  jumping,  climbing,  yelling,  and  insisting 
that  I  keep  pace  with  him,  so  that  I  had  to  get  the 
kink  out  of  my  back  and  the  stiffness  out  of  my  legs. 

Not  until  he  was  nearly  six  years  old  would  he 
play  a  game  in  which  fixed  rules  must  be  observed; 
and  even  then  the  rules  must  be  few  and  simple. 
In  his  play  the  self-centered  little  fellow  would  sub- 
mit to  no  law  but  his  own,  and  he  as  lawmaker  re- 
served the  right  to  change  the  rules  at  will.  Our 
play,  therefore,  was  more  frolic  than  game. 

He  impersonated  every  character  he  knew  and 
imitated  every  occupation  he  saw  other  people  engage 
in.  Certainly,  I  thought,  God  knew  how  to  develop 
children  when  he  planted  in  them  an  instinct  to  play. 
In  the  cities  I  see  the  stunted  bodies  and  the  starved 
souls  of  children  who  do  not  play.  God  pity  them ! 
My  heart  would  break  if  they  were  mine. 

I  was  careful  that  he  did  not  imitate  questionable 
habits  or  undesirable  traits  even  in  play. 

"Father,  let's  play  that  I  am  a  drunken  man," 
he  would  suggest. 


FROM  THREE  TO  SIX  35 

"No,  no,"  I  replied;  "I  cannot  play  that  game." 

"Why?" 

"Because  drunken  men  are  not  nice." 

Or,  "Shut  your  eyes,  father." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  to  me?"  I  asked. 

"Nothing." 

"Do  not  say  that  you  are  going  to  do  nothing  if 
you  are  going  to  do  something,"  I  answered.  "Say 
'  Shut  your  eyes,  father,  because  I  want  to  surprise 

you/  " 

One  evening  when  I  was  looking  over  some  books 
and  he  was  writing  by  my  side  he  said, 

"Are  we  playing  school,  father?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered;  "I  am  the  teacher  and  you  are 
the  little  boy;  but  the  boy  is  not  holding  his  pencil 
correctly." 

"Let  us  play  that  I  am  a  bad  boy  and  hold  my 
pencil  this  way." 

"No,  I  cannot  play  that." 

"Why,  father?" 

"  Because  you  are  a  very  good  boy." 

The  wonderful  imagination  of  childhood  enabled 
him  to  play  many  of  his  most  helpful  games  by  mak- 
ing inanimate  things  alive,  imaginary  things  real, 
absent  things  present,  real  things  ideal.  Happy 
child !  How  easy  it  was  for  his  fancy  to  create  a  per- 
fect world  about  him.  Did  he  want  a  toy  he  did  not 
possess?  His  imagination  furnished  it.  Did  he 
desire  a  complete  change  of  environment?  His 
imagination  provided  it.  Often  I  wished  I  had  not 


36  OUR  BOY 

lost  all  the  fancy  of  my  own  childhood,  for  I  be- 
lieve if  I  could  have  found  the  ideal  in  the  real,  as 
he  did,  that  my  adult  world  would  have  been  better, 
brighter,  and  happier. 

He  was  a  born  imitator.  The  reflex  imitation  of 
the  preceding  period,  while  not  so  prominent,  still 
controlled  his  moods,  and  cheerfulness  or  bad  humor 
was  still  "catching."  Voluntary  imitation,  which 
was  scarcely  noticeable  before,  became  very  strong 
at  this  time.  He  deliberately  imitated  our  words  and 
actions,  and  the  influence  of  our  daily  conduct  had  a 
stronger  and  more  lasting  effect  upon  him  than  any 
verbal  teaching. 

If  I  stood  at  a  window  he  stood  beside  me,  not 
looking  out  the  window,  but  watching  me;  his  feet 
placed  like  mine,  his  hands  held  in  the  same  position 
as  mine,  his  entire  poise  a  duplicate  of  my  own.  To 
test  him  I  moved  my  feet  ever  so  slightly.  Instantly 
he  made  a  corresponding  change  in  his  own.  I 
changed  my  attitude  to  a  more  difficult  one.  At  once 
he  attempted  to  make  a  similar  change,  though  it 
required  some  time  and  effort  to  exactly  copy  my 
position. 

Not  only  did  he  imitate  what  was  actually  before 
him,  but  his  little  brain  stored  many  memory  images, 
and  frequently  he  would  repeat  some  expression  or 
reproduce  some  action  days  after  he  had  heard  or  seen 
it.  Often  after  such  repetition  his  mother  and  I 
would  ask  each  other  where  he  had  learned  such 
things,  and  only  a  careful  review  of  our  own  speech 


FROM  THREE  TO  SIX  37 

and  actions  during  the  preceding  days  would  reveal 
the  source  of  his  knowledge. 

Curiosity,  which  in  the  earlier  period  urged  him  to 
upset  mother's  work-basket  and  pull  the  dishes  from 
the  table,  at  this  time  developed  into  a  real  spirit  of 
investigation.  He  broke  up  his  expensive  toys  to 
see  how  they  were  made,  while  the  toys  which  he 
liked  best  were  those  he  could  take  apart  at  pleasure. 
He  wanted  to  handle  everything  he  saw,  and  he 
strained  his  ears  to  hear  every  word  uttered  in  his 
presence.  If  we  spoke  of  something  he  could  not 
understand  he  was  quick  to  question  us  about  it. 

I  doubt  if  he  would  have  made  much  mental  prog- 
ress without  this  instinct  of  curiosity.  It  not  only 
brought  him  into  intimate  relation  with  everything 
in  his  environment,  but  constantly  urged  him  into 
fresh  paths  of  discovery  and  investigation,  for  at 
times  only  something  new  would  satisfy  him.  Some 
pain  resulted,  as  when  he  found  that  the  wasp  had 
"hot  feet,"  as  he  called  its  sting,  and  that  the  fire 
burned. 

The  questions—"  What  is  it  ?"  "  What  does  it  do  ?" 
"Where  did  it  come  from?" — of  the  preceding  years 
were  simple  compared  with  the  "Whys"  of  this 
period. 

"Father,  why  is  it  light  sometimes  and  sometimes 
dark?" 

"  Because  the  sun  shines  sometimes  and  sometimes 
does  not." 

"Why?" 


38  OUR  BOY 

"Because  God  has  made  it  do  that,"  I  replied. 

"Why?" 

"Because  God  wants  it  to  be  dark  sometimes  so 
that  we  can  rest." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  we  need  the  rest  so  that  we  can  work  and 
play." 

"Why?" 

"Oh,—" 

"Why  do  you  say  'oh'  to  me  that  way,  father?" 

Then  I  caught  him  in  my  arms  and  smothered  his 
"Whys"  with  a  kiss,  for  what  else  could  I  do? 

He  was  naturally  affectionate.  Often  in  our  play 
he  stopped  to  kiss  me  impulsively.  I  well  remember 
one  night  when  we  had  strangers  for  dinner.  The 
meal  was  about  finished,  when  he  slid  down  from  his 
chair  and,  coming  to  my  side,  pulled  down  my  arm 
so  that  he  could  embrace  it  as  he  announced  to  the 
entire  company,  "  This  is  my  father,  and  this  is  how 
I  like  him."  Then  he  squeezed  my  arm  with  all  his 
strength.  It  was  surely  a  happy  father  who  bent 
over  the  little  curly  head  that  the  visitors  might  not 
see  his  eyes  glisten. 

We  caressed  him  without  fear  of  making  him  a 
molly-coddle,  for  we  believed  the  changes  which 
would  come  later  in  his  life  would  banish  whatever 
seemed  effeminate  and  leave  a  man  ennobled  by  a 
naturally  affectionate  disposition. 

His  affection  for  us  did  not  destroy  his  self-inter- 
est, but  shone  through  it.  He  loved  us  because  we 


FROM  THREE  TO  SIX  39 

first  loved  him  and  did  so  much  for  him.  He  was 
the  center  of  his  world,  and  the  rest  of  that  world  had 
but  one  reason  for  existing — to  serve  him.  I  suppose 
many  people  thought  him  selfish;  but  we  did  not 
worry  about  what  people  thought  so  long  as  we  be- 
lieved he  was  developing  in  God's  way. 

Our  task  was  not  to  make  him  less  self-centered 
at  this  age,  but  to  teach  him  that  he  received  most 
for  himself  by  doing  most  for  others,  and  out  of  this 
very  self-interest  to  develop  a  habit  of  serving  others. 
We  knew  that  this  habit  of  service  would  remain  after 
the  individualism  which  made  personal  gain  the 
strongest  propelling  motive  had  disappeared,  and 
when  the  social  and  altruistic  instincts  had  devel- 
oped sufficiently  to  provide  higher  motives. 

When  my  well-meaning  neighbors  shook  their 
heads  at  such  theories,  I  reminded  them  that  the 
Golden  Rule  commanded  a  man  to  do  most  for 
others  when  he  demanded  most  for  himself. 

Personal  gain  also  prompted  him  to  help  us  in 
many  ways  because  he  found  pleasure  in  so  doing. 
We  did  not  quarrel  with  the  motive,  but  rather  en- 
couraged it  in  order  to  get  more  service.  We  had 
got  away  from  the  old  Puritan  notion  that  whatever 
was  right  must  be  hard,  and  we  endeavored  to  make 
the  right  as  easy  and  pleasant  as  possible;  knowing 
full  well  that  our  boy  would  do  the  things  which 
brought  him  the  greatest  amount  of  personal  pleas- 
ure and  satisfaction. 

His  faith  in  us  was  a  marvelous  thing,  which  we 


40  OUR  BOY 

were  careful  not  to  shake.  He  believed  everything 
we  told  him,  and  I  trembled  sometimes  lest  some 
untruth  might  escape  me.  We  never  intentionally 
deceived  him  and  if  he  misunderstood  us  we  were 
quick  to  correct  the  wrong  impression.  No  police- 
man ever  lurked  around  our  corner  waiting  for  bad 
boys;  no  bogy  man  hid  behind  our  doors;  no  big 
black  bear  was  in  the  closet  which  he  should  not  open. 
You  see  we  feared  that  a  spirit  of  adventure  might 
induce  him  to  open  that  closet-door  some  day  when 
our  backs  were  turned,  and,  finding  no  bear  there,  his 
little  brain  would  register  the  fact  that  things  were 
not  always  as  we  represented  them.  Where  should 
he  find  a  basis  for  steadfast  faith  in  an  invisible 
God  if  there  was  no  one  on  earth  whom  he  could 
believe? 

He  instinctively  turned  to  the  things  of  God. 
How  he  loved  those  splendid  stories  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment whose  records  of  the  childhood  of  the  race  seem 
to  have  been  written  especially  for  the  children  of 
each  generation! 

"Talk  about  God,  father,"  he  said  many  times. 

It  was  not  always  a  new  story  he  wanted;  in  fact,  I 
found  that  he  liked  best  the  stories  he  had  heard  the 
oftenest  and  knew  the  best. 

"Tell  an  old,  old  story,  father,"  he  would  say. 

Then  I  would  recall  some  old  Bible  story;  and  often 
I  had  scarcely  begun  the  telling  of  it  when  the  little 
fingers  closed  my  lips  as  he  said,  "Stop  a  minute, 
father,  I  can  tell  that  story."  Or  he  would  listen 


FROM  THREE  TO  SIX  41 

attentively  that  he  might  point  out  any  omission  on 
my  part. 

Stories  of  God's  goodness  appealed  to  him  as  no 
others  did.  He  asked  me  how  his  dresses  were  made ; 
and  I  told  him  of  the  cotton  plant  and  of  the  God  who 
gave  it  sunshine  and  rain.  He  asked  me  how  my 
clothes  were  made;  and  I  told  him  of  the  sheep  and  of 
the  God  who  provided  food  for  them.  He  asked  me 
about  his  iron  toys;  and  I  told  him  of  the  ore  that 
God  had  hidden  in  the  earth  long  years  ago.  He 
inquired  about  his  wooden  toys;  and  I  told  him  of 
the  trees  and  how  God  made  them  grow.  There  was 
no  good  thing  in  all  this  world  that  did  not  lead  back 
to  God. 

When  we  had  gone  over  these  things  many  times 
I  got  the  response  I  was  looking  for  when  he  ex- 
claimed, "Oh,  he  must  be  a  good  God!  I  like 
Him!" 

His  love  for  God  at  that  age,  like  his  affection  for 
us,  was  a  matter  of  barter,  inspired  by  what  God  had 
done  for  him. 

There  was  also  a  little  unwholesome  fear  of  God. 
One  day  he  spoke  of  God  as  being  in  Heaven. 

"God  is  everywhere,"  I  corrected. 

"Here?" 

"Yes." 

"In  this  room?" 

"Yes." 

He  gave  a  half-frightened  look  around  him. 

Another  day  he  said,  "I  was  playing  in  the  yard 


42  OUR  BOY 

and  God  looked  down  at  me,  but  I  said,  'I  do  not 
like  you  to  look  at  me,  God/ ' 

It  was  necessary,  therefore,  for  us  to  dwell  much 
upon  God's  love  and  to  tell  him  that  God  watched  to 
see  how  good  and  happy  he  was.  The  God  we  told 
him  about  did  not  dislike  naughty  boys.  He  loved 
all  boys,  but  was  happier  when  the  boys  were  good. 

When  he  was  four  years  old  I  dug  up  a  corner  of 
the  yard  and  told  him  it  was  to  be  his  flower-bed. 
How  delighted  he  was  when  allowed  to  plant  the 
flowers  himself!  How  he  watched  that  bed  during 
the  summer  and  cared  for  the  flowers  as  he  saw  me 
care  for  mine! 

The  next  summer  I  showed  him  how  the  pollen 
fertilized  the  seed  and  made  possible  its  development, 
and  together  we  gathered  the  seeds  for  our  next 
year's  flowers. 

I  was  not  thinking  solely  of  the  lesson  in  botany; 
I  knew  a  day  would  come  when  he  would  ask  puz- 
zling questions  regarding  his  own  life,  and  later  about 
the  problem  of  sex  and  reproduction,  and  I  was  build- 
ing against  that  day. 

During  this  time  he  played  a  great  deal  with  a 
neighbor's  little  girl,  and  one  day  I  said,  "I  believe 
Charles  has  a  sweetheart." 

Instantly  he  asked,  "What  is  'sweetheart,' 
father?" 

His  mother  and  I  glanced  quickly  at  each  other,  for 
both  realized  that  I  had  made  a  false  step.  If  God 
had  intended  that  our  four-year-old  boy  should  have 


FROM  THREE  TO  SIX  43 

a  sweetheart,  he  would  have  given  him  an  instinctive 
desire  for  one.  As  it  was,  I  introduced  the  subject 
when  he  had  neither  inclination  for  it  nor  ability  to 
understand  it.  Fortunately,  the  child  did  not  press 
his  question,  and  for  a  long  time  the  boy  and  girl 
played  together  as  sexless  children,  utterly  uncon- 
scious of  that  mysterious  power  which  would  later 
drive  them  apart,  then  draw  them  together  again 
with  an  irresistible  force. 

So  day  after  day,  as  natural  tendencies  urged  him 
on  and  instincts  demanded  nourishment,  the  little 
body  developed  and  the  soul  unfolded.  So  day 
after  day  his  mother  and  I  planted  and  cultivated, 
often  disturbed  because  some  tares  would  grow, 
hoping  always  for  a  rich  and  bountiful  harvest,  but 
knowing  full  well  that  the  harvest  was  still  a  long 
way  off. 


STEP  THREE: 
FROM  SIX  TO  NINE 


OUTLINE  OF  THE  PERIOD 


Starting  to  school. 

Parents'  help  with  lessons. 

Danger  from  school-yard  immorality. 

Selecting  mates  by  making  home  the  play-center. 

Self -education  through  the  "collecting"  habit. 

Powers  of  perception,  memory,  and  imagination  in- 
crease. 

His  first  fight. 

Rapid  growth  causes  lack  of  self-control. 

More  definite  purpose  in  work  and  play. 

In  games,  each  boy  for  himself. 

Imitating  qualities  of  others  more  than  their  actions. 

Religious  development: 
Emulating  qualities  admired   in    Old    Testament 

heroes. 
Christ  more  real — desire  to  please  Him. 


STEP  THREE:  FROM  SIX  TO  NINE 

SCHOOL-DAYS !  They  wear  a  halo  now  as  I  view 
them  through  the  vista  of  the  years;  yet  twice  in 
my  life  I  approached  them  with  a  great  deal  of  dread. 
Once,  when  as  a  country  boy,  browned  and  freckled 
by  the  summer's  sun,  clad  in  homespun  clothes  and 
well-greased  leather  boots,  I  started  from  home  that 
first  morning  and  loitered  along  the  road  that  I  might 
delay  the  fearful  moment  when  I  should  stand  before 
the  master.  They  were  masters  in  those  days, — 
past-masters  in  the  art  of  sternness  and  birch- 
swinging.  Loitering  availed  me  nothing,  for  the 
school-house  seemed  to  rush  toward  me, — a  horrible 
monster  in  league  with  a  cruel  fate  which  rendered 
the  poor  little  country  urchin  helpless.  The  big 
and  terrifying  aspect  has  departed  from  that  old 
school,  for  nowadays  I  think  of  it  as  the  "little" 
school-house  and  recall  with  a  thrill  of  pleasure  its 
many  happy  memories. 

Once  again  I  dreaded  the  school-days  when  I  saw 
my  own  boy  so  rapidly  approaching  them.  Of 
course,  I  was  proud  of  the  sturdy  little  fellow,  and 
glad  he  was  growing  and  developing;  but  I  could  not 
shake  off  the  notion  that  we  would  lose  something 
when  he  went  to  school. 

We  did  lose  our  baby,  but  we  gained  a  boy.  It 
was  this  change  in  him  that  brought  us  our  third 
child — a  child  with  greater  mental  ability,  wider 

47 


48  OUR  BOY 

interests,  keener  and  more  accurate  power  of  per- 
ception, a  better  memory  and  a  new  creative  imagi- 
nation. For  a  time  I  refused  to  be  reconciled  to  the 
change,  for  I  wanted  my  baby  again.  What  a  sweet, 
affectionate,  trustful,  dependent  little  fellow  he  had 
been  for  six  years!  Small  wonder  that  I  rebelled 
against  giving  him  up.  As  the  days  passed,  how- 
ever, I  began  to  realize  that  the  boy  with  his  new 
characteristics  was  a  distinct  gain. 

I  smiled  as  I  watched  him  that  first  morning  im- 
patiently waiting  for  the  school-hour,  and  mentally 
compared  him  with  that  other  boy  who  some  thirty 
years  before  had  shrunk  from  the  approach  of  that 
same  hour.  His  eyes  beamed  with  joyful  expectancy 
when  mine  had  shown  only  fear;  his  neat,  well-fitting 
clothes  and  leather  shoes  contrasted  strongly  with 
my  coarser  garments;  while  his  clear,  smooth  skin 
and  rosy  cheeks  seemed  made  of  finer  material  than 
my  sun-reddened,  weather-hardened  skin  had  been. 
Robust  and  healthy  he  was,  and  yet  I  think  I  was  a 
little  sturdier  than  he. 

He  did  not  approach  his  first  school-day  with  the 
dread  I  had  felt  for  mine.  The  old-time  school-master 
had  been  replaced  by  the  gentle,  tactful,  well-trained 
woman-teacher;  and  the  crude  unnatural  methods  of 
the  past  had  been  forced  out  by  the  wiser  and  more 
efficient  art  of  latter-day  teaching.  Besides,  the 
reports  other  children  gave  him  of  their  school  ex- 
periences were  happy,  while  the  ones  I  had  heard 
were  terrifying. 


FROM  SIX  TO  NINE  49 

The  new  experiences  which  came  to  him  with  the 
first  few  days  of  school  brought  a  genuine  pleasure 
with  them;  but  soon  the  novelty  was  gone  and  the 
repetition  of  old  experiences  became  drudgery,  while 
the  confinement  irritated  his  freedom-loving  spirit. 
Too  well  I  knew  from  my  own  experience  that  there 
were  beautiful  days  when  all  nature  called  him  to 
play;  days  when  he  started  to  school  with  a  heavy 
heart  and  a  rebellious  spirit;  when  every  free  thing 
he  saw  along  the  road  drew  his  breath  out  into  sighs, 
and  when  the  school-room  itself  seemed  a  veritable 
prison.  These  were  real  troubles  for  the  little  fel- 
low, and  called  not  for  scolding  and  forcing,  but  for 
genuine  sympathy. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know  it  is  hard  to  go  to  school  on  a  day 
like  this,  Charles/'  I  said  to  him  many  times.  "I 
was  a  boy  once  myself  and  I  remember.  But  I  want 
you  to  be  a  real  man  some  day,  and  you  cannot  be 
unless  you  do  some  hard  things  now." 

"But  I  would  rather  stay  home  and  help  you, 
father,"  the  little  fellow  would  half-whine. 

"  And  I  should  be  glad  to  have  your  help,  but  you 
can  help  me  more  after  awhile  if  you  learn  the  school- 
lessons  now." 

Off  he  would  trudge  slowly,  and  back  he  would 
come  when  the  school  was  dismissed,  laughing,  shout- 
ing, running.  The  trouble  was  grievous  enough,  but 
short-lived. 

The  lessons  of  his  first  year  were  comparatively 
easy  for  him,  as  we  had  studied  the  teaching  methods 


50  OUR  BOY 

of  the  time  and  taught  him  some  things  ourselves 
before  he  started  to  school.  But  as  the  years  passed, 
and  one  study  after  another  was  added  to  his  list  of 
requirements,  his  school-work  at  times  was  a  real 
burden.  I  do  not  mean  that  the  burden  was  at  any 
time  too  heavy  for  him,  but  over  us  often  hovered  the 
fear  that  it  might  become  so. 

Our  method  of  guarding  against  that  danger  was 
simple  and  efficacious.  Since  it  is  not  hard  work  but 
drudgery  that  kills,  we  exerted  every  effort  to  make 
his  school-work  pleasant.  When  the  lessons  seemed 
hard  to  the  tired  little  brain  and  the  discouraged  soul, 
we  sat  down  beside  him  and  studied  together.  How 
simple  the  perplexing  problem  often  became  after  a 
word  of  explanation,  or  how  easy  it  was  to  memorize 
some  difficult  lesson  when  its  meaning  was  made  clear ! 
What  a  bright,  happy  little  fellow  started  for  school 
with  his  sums  all  done  and  lessons  all  learned!  The 
fear  that  I  should  somehow  lose  my  boy  when  he 
started  to  school  vanished  as  I  found  that  I  was 
drawing  him  closer  to  me  by  the  help  I  gave  him. 

He  became  very  proud  of  his  mother  and  me.  I 
often  heard  him  boast  to  playmates  of  what  we  knew 
or  could  do.  The  old  individualism  of  babyhood 
remained  and  he  boasted  of  us  because  of  his  owner- 
ship in  us.  It  was  always  "my  mother"  and  "my 
father,"  with  strong  emphasis  upon  the  personal 
pronoun;  and  he  spoke  of  the  feats  performed  by 
"my  dog"  with  the  same  enthusiasm.  Self-centered 
though  the  praise  really  was,  it  was  sweet  to  our  ears. 


FROM  SIX  TO  NINE  51 

From  the  first,  every  thought  of  school-days 
brought  one  predominant  dread;  for  more  than  any- 
thing else  we  feared  the  immorality  of  the  school-yard. 
How  sweet  and  pure  and  innocent  our  boy  seemed  to 
us  when  he  started  for  school  that  first  day!  Little 
wonder  that  we  trembled,  for  too  well  we  knew  about 
the  false  statements,  the  vulgar  jokes,  the  obscene 
stories  which  circulated  in  the  school  playground. 
Thus  far  we  had  been  able  to  guard  our  boy  against 
these  things,  for  he  had  been  satisfied  with  the 
companionship  of  his  mother  and  me;  but  with  the 
beginning  of  the  school-life  his  nature  demanded  that 
he  have  companions  of  his  own  age  and  sex.  We 
could  still  help  him  somewhat  in  the  selection  of  these 
companions,  and  guard  to  some  extent  against  evil 
associates,  except  in  that  dreaded  school-yard,  since 
the  school-boards  of  that  time  were  not  sufficiently 
awake  to  this  danger  to  require  that  a  teacher  remain 
in  the  yard  during  recess. 

We  had  endeavored  to  make  our  boy  so  strong  of 
body  that  he  would  be  proof  against  contagious  dis- 
eases; and,  when  the  school-days  arrived,  we  found 
it  necessary  to  make  him  so  pure  in  soul  that  he 
would  be  proof  against  this  more  dreaded  infection. 
We  made  an  effort  so  to  enlighten  him  regarding  the 
secrets  of  life  and  sex  that  he  would  know  the  truth 
better  than  the  school-yard  scamp  who  thought  he 
knew  it  all. 

What  wide-open,  blue  eyes  they  were  that  watched 
me  as  I  spoke  of  these  things!  We  answered  every 


52  OUR  BOY 

eager  question  candidly,  for  we  knew  that  his  ques- 
tions were  insistent,  and  if  unsatisfied  would  lead  him 
into  undesirable  places  for  an  answer. 

It  was  hard,  for  we  had  not  then  the  helpful  books 
on  sex  hygiene  which  the  parents  of  to-day  may 
use;  but  in  our  cruder  way  we  tried  to  show  him  that 
nothing  was  more  pure  in  God's  whole  world  than  the 
thing  which  the  vulgar  made  most  vile. 

To  guard  as  much  as  possible  against  evil  associ- 
ates we  made  our  home  the  rendezvous  for  his  com- 
panions. Every  clean-minded  boy  was  welcome. 
Experience  taught  that  the  boy  who  dressed  the  best 
or  observed  the  rules  of  polite  society  most  carefully 
was  not  always  the  safest.  To  know  the  boys  thor- 
oughly we  found  it  necessary  to  know  their  parents 
and  home-life,  so  that  there  grew  up  in  our  commu- 
nity a  bond  of  fellowship  between  parents  as  well  as 
of  companionship  among  boys. 

Of  course,  the  careless  little  fellows  tramped 
dirt  into  our  house;  but  we  endured  the  dirt  to 
keep  our  boy's  soul  clean.  To  be  sure,  they  made 
a  noise — a  boisterous,  deafening  noise;  but  we  felt 
safe  and  happy  in  the  noise.  It  was  when  they 
whispered  together  that  we  feared  and  got  closer  to 
them. 

I  suppose  folks  called  me  a  "busy-body,"  for  I  had 
a  notion  that  every  bit  of  immorality  in  my  com- 
munity was  as  much  my  business  as  every  case  of 
contagious  disease.  For  the  protection  of  my  own 
boy  I  guarded  my  neighbor's  children  from  con- 


FROM  SIX  TO  NINE  53 

tagion;  for  the  sake  of  my  own  boy  I  protected  my 
neighbor's  children  from  vice. 

School-life  and  his  association  with  companions  of 
his  own  age  did  much  to  develop  the  greater  mental 
ability  and  wider  interests  of  this  period.  While 
still  incapable  of  real  reasoning,  he  liked  to  do  his 
own  thinking  and  depended  less  upon  us  for  his  con- 
clusions. He  did  not  want  us  to  solve  even  his  hard- 
est school-problems,  but  simply  to  make  some  little 
suggestion  that  would  clarify  them.  When  he 
thought  we  had  helped  enough,  he  would  say,  "  Now 
wait  till  I  try;"  and  he  was  always  happier  when 
he  could  solve  the  problem  himself.  Like  every  other 
organ,  the  brain  insisted  upon  the  exercise  of  its 
functions,  and,  being  a  normal  child,  he  could  no  more 
be  mentally  sluggish  than  physically  inactive.  His 
brain  wanted  to  think  as  much  as  his  muscles  desired 
to  work. 

We  unlearned  that  mind-restraining  doctrine  that 
"  children  should  be  seen  and  not  heard"  and  decided 
that  our  boy  should  be  both  seen  and  heard.  We 
gave  him  every  opportunity  to  enter  into  our  conver- 
sation, asked  his  opinion  on  simple  subjects,  and  al- 
ways listened  attentively  to  what  he  had  to  say.  Of 
course,  it  was  hard  to  conceal  a  smile  at  some  of  his 
quaint  remarks,  but  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that 
we  hear  him  seriously,  for  any  indication  of  amuse- 
ment on  our  part  silenced  him. 

The  exercise  of  his  growing  mental  power  broad- 
ened his  interests.  Before  this  time  his  only  concern 


54  OUR  BOY 

had  been  for  the  concrete  things  with  which  he 
came  into  contact;  while  he  still  cared  nothing  for 
abstractions,  his  interest  now  extended  from  the 
concrete  things  at  hand  to  other  related  things  that 
he  could  neither  see  nor  touch. 

A  piece  of  coal,  which  before  had  been  merely 
something  to  burn  in  our  stoves,  now  awakened  in 
him  an  interest  in  the  mines  and  the  processes  of 
mining.  The  engine  suggested  questions  regarding 
its  power.  People  of  different  nationalities  pictured 
in  his  school-books  led  him  to  inquire  about  their 
countries  and  habits.  By  simply  satisfying  the 
demands  of  this  wider  interest  it  was  possible  to  lead 
him  far  into  the  fields  of  knowledge  without  taxing 
his  mental  ability. 

Had  we  been  blind  to  these  broader  interests,  a 
look  into  his  pockets  would  have  revealed  them. 
What  a  collection!  But  then,  what  a  collector! 
At  no  time  would  I  have  given  five  cents  for  every- 
thing in  those  pockets,  and  I  am  equally  sure  that  he 
would  not  have  exchanged  a  single  pocket-load  for 
all  of  my  possessions.  Valueless  as  those  things 
actually  were,  to  him  they  were  priceless. 

We  did  not  think  it  strange  that  the  hobby  of 
collecting  should  develop  just  when  it  was  most 
needed  and  could  accomplish  the  most,  for  that  is 
God's  way  of  working.  Everything  he  collected 
taught  him  something.  Coins  and  stamps  made 
maps  become  more  than  colored  pages  in  his  books; 
and  his  stones  made  possible  the  first  lesson  in  miner- 


"  Everything  he  collected  taught  him  something."  P.  54. 


FROM  SIX  TO  NINE  55 

alogy.  The  craze  to  gather  would  have  made  him  a 
despoiler  of  birds'  nests  had  we  permitted  it; 
though  the  eggs  would  have  had  some  instructive 
value,  we  thought  it  better  that  he  should  learn  to  be 
kind. 

The  power  of  perception  kept  pace  with  his  broad- 
ening interests.  Practice  made  the  senses  more 
accurate  in  the  sensations  they  gathered;  while  the 
greater  store  of  knowledge  and  experience  made  the 
brain  more  capable  of  discriminating,  interpreting, 
and  classifying  these  sensations.  He  could  see  more 
details  in  a  picture  or  an  object  and  understand  bet- 
ter what  was  said  to  him.  The  senses  were  as  hungry 
as  ever,  and  with  the  brain's  increasing  ability  to 
understand  their  messages  his  stock  of  knowledge 
grew  by  leaps  and  bounds.  The  marvel  was  how 
and  where  he  learned  so  much,  and  "  how  one  small 
head  could  carry  all  he  knew." 

Nor  was  it  knowledge  acquired  just  for  the  moment, 
for  his  memory  had  greater  power  of  retention  than 
before.  Whatever  awakened  his  curiosity  interested 
him  and  made  a  lasting  impression  upon  the  sensitive 
cells  of  his  brain. 

We  were  careful  not  to  abuse  his  memory  at  that 
age  by  burdening  it  with  facts  he  could  not  under- 
stand nor  use.  The  faculty  had  not  yet  reached  the 
height  of  its  power,  and  in  the  developing  stage  was 
sufficiently  exercised  in  retaining  the  things  his 
natural  interest  furnished,  his  needs  demanded,  or 
his  school-work  required.  The  fact  that  he  mem- 


56  OUR  BOY 

orized  without  effort  was  no  reason  why  the  faculty 
should  at  that  age  be  taxed  with  useless  matter. 

His  imagination  found  in  the  greater  store  of 
mental  images  furnished  by  past  experiences  abun- 
dant material  for  new  combinations.  He  was  con- 
stantly pretending  or  supposing,  and  at  times  he 
lived  in  utter  independence  of  his  actual  surround- 
ings in  a  make-believe  environment — and  this 
imaginary  world  was  often  more  real  than  the  actual 
one.  He  was  more  able  to  distinguish  between 
imaginary  and  real  experiences  than  he  had  been 
before;  but  there  were  still  times  when  it  seemed  im- 
possible for  him  to  be  literally  truthful  when  relating 
some  fanciful  experience.  To  him  these  experiences 
were  true  and  real,  for  the  strange  combinations 
effected  by  his  free  creative  imagination  were  in- 
tensely vivid. 

He  had  been  attending  school  two  years  when,  on 
reaching  home  one  night,  I  found  a  cloud  on  his 
mother's  face.  The  condition  of  the  boy's  face  ex- 
plained that  cloud.  One  little  eye  was  half-closed 
and  fearfully  blackened,  while  a  long  scratch  ex- 
tended across  the  opposite  cheek. 

I  made  no  comments  and  asked  no  questions.  In- 
deed, questions  were  unnecessary,  for  I  knew  at  once 
what  had  happened.  He  had  had  his  first  fight. 
The  boy  was  puzzled  by  my  apparent  indifference  to 
the  condition  of  his  face,  and  his  perplexity  increased 
as  the  dinner  progressed. 

When  the  meal  was  over  I  called  him  into  the 


FROM  SIX  TO  NINE  57 

library.  He  came  reluctantly;  but  when  I  sat  down 
and,  holding  my  hand  out  to  him,  said,  "Now  tell  me 
what  it  was  about,"  he  gave  me  one  quick,  searching 
look,  then  came  to  my  side.  He  leaned  against  the 
arm  of  my  chair  and,  when  I  put  my  arm  around 
him,  nestled  his  head  against  me.  Poor  little  face! 
I  knew  it  pained. 

"  John  Parsons  kicked  our  marbles  when  we  were 
playing/'  he  said. 

"Where  were  you  playing?"  I  asked. 

"In  the  school-yard." 

"Where  John  always  plays?" 

"No,  where  we  play.  John  always  plays  on  the 
other  side  with  the  big  boys." 

"With  whom  were  you  playing?" 

"Harry  Simpson." 

"Did  Harry  fight  too?" 

"No,  he  was  too  little." 

You  see  it  was  not  so  bad  after  all;  he  had  fought 
in  defense  of  his  own  rights  and  of  those  of  a  smaller 
boy. 

"How  many  times  did  John  kick  your  marbles?" 
I  asked. 

The  little  eyes  flashed  back  at  me  as  he  answered, 
"Only  once,"  and  I  was  conscious  of  a  thrill  of 
pride  in  this  chip  off  my  bigger  block. 

"And  who  whipped?"  I  inquired,  quickly. 

The  lips  quivered  a  little. 

"He  was  bigger  than  me." 

I  saw  it  like  a  flash.    He  had  been  worsted  in  his 


58  OUR  BOY 

first  physical  contest.  Not  so  bad  either,  I  thought, 
for  it  would  prevent  his  becoming  a  bully. 

"There  are  times  when  it  is  right  to  fight,"  I 
said;  "but  such  times  do  not  come  very  often,  and 
it  is  more  often  right  to  fight  in  defense  of  some  one 
else  who  is  being  imposed  upon  than  for  ourselves. 
We  should  try  every  other  honorable  means  to  ac- 
complish our  purpose  and  fight  only  as  a  last  resort. 
I  am  afraid  you  did  not  do  this  to-day.  When 
John  kicked  your  marbles  you  became  angry  and 
struck  in  a  passion.  That  is  always  wrong  and  rash; 
for  when  in  a  passion  you  can  neither  think  nor  see 
clearly,  and  you  are  likely  to  get  whipped  as  you  did 
to-day.  Now,  let  us  bathe  this  face  and  forget 
it." 

This  was  not  his  last  fight  by  any  means;  but  there 
appeared  an  ever-strengthening  tendency  to  control 
the  fighting  instinct.  Critical  neighbors  wagged 
their  heads  as  they  said,  "There  is  that  model  child 
fighting  like  any  other  boy." 

That  he  did  fight  like  any  other  normal  child  was 
the  most  encouraging  thing  about  it.  I  have  a 
notion  that  a  boy  with  no  fighting  instinct,  or  with 
the  instinct  under  perfect  control,  would  be  an  un- 
natural child ;  and  that  a  man  with  no  fighting  spirit 
would  accomplish  very  little  in  this  world  either  for 
good  or  bad. 

Like  his  fighting,  almost  all  of  his  acts  were  im- 
pulsive, stimulated  by  the  desires  of  the  moment.  In 
essential  things  he  knew  the  difference  between  right 


FROM  SIX  TO  NINE  59 

and  wrong,  but  he  did  not  always  voluntarily  choose 
the  right  unless  there  was  offered  some  inducement 
other  than  the  mere  fact  that  it  was  right.  Prin- 
ciples or  laws  of  right  conduct  were  too  abstract  to 
be  controlling  motives  when  unsupported  by  other 
inducements,  and  the  strongest  propelling  motive 
was  still  that  of  personal  gain.  When  he  was  good, 
he  was  very,  very  good,  in  the  hope  of  getting  some- 
thing out  of  it;  when  he  was  bad,  he  was  very,  very 
bad,  perhaps  acting  upon  the  principle  that  he  might 
as  well  go  the  limit  and  get  as  much  as  possible  out 
of  his  naughtiness. 

The  naughty  spells,  while  discouraging  at  times, 
caused  us  little  real  anxiety,  for  they  were  impelled 
by  uncontrolled  impulses  and  became  less  frequent 
as  he  grew  older  and  self-control  became  stronger. 
Progress  seemed  very  slow  at  the  time,  owing  to  our 
impatient  desire  for  perfection,  but  as  wre  look  back 
upon  those  years  we  realize  that  it  was  steady  and 
constant.  The  trouble  was  that  we  so  often  judged 
his  conduct  by  laws  and  standards  intended  only  for 
maturity,  and  when  he  violated  those  laws  and  fell 
below  those  standards  we  thought  him  imperfect  in 
character  or  conduct,  while  all  the  time  he  was  a 
natural,  normal  child. 

I  believe  the  period  of  least  self-control  was  be- 
tween the  ages  of  six  and  eight;  and  we  attributed  it 
to  the  accelerated  growth  of  that  time.  During  those 
years  he  grew  very  rapidly;  and,  as  there  was  no 
abatement  in  his  activity,  all  the  vitality  he  could 


60  OUR  BOY 

supply  was  consumed  in  growth  and  constant  motion, 
so  that  health  and  moral  control  suffered.  Indeed, 
his  health  became  a  rather  serious  problem,  and  it 
was  necessary  for  us  to  insist  that  he  take  sufficient 
nourishment  and  rest.  Many  times  he  was  too  busy 
to  eat,  while  the  days  were  not  long  enough  for  all  his 
self-imposed  labor.  With  brain  and  body  tired  and 
his  supply  of  reserve  vitality  exhausted,  careful  dis- 
crimination between  right  and  wrong  and  a  perfect 
control  of  impulses  was  physically  impossible. 

He  was  impulsively  affectionate,  kind,  and  chari- 
table, just  as  he  was  impulsively  naughty.  To  tell 
him  to  be  charitable  was  to  use  an  abstraction  which 
had  no  meaning  for  him;  but  when  we  told  him  the 
story  of  some  poor  child  who  had  no  toys  we  awak- 
ened a  sympathetic  emotion  which  sought  immediate 
expression.  Always  after  such  a  recital  he  would 
bring  to  us  some  toy  of  his  own  for  the  less  fortunate 
child,  but  always  it  was  some  old  and  discarded  play- 
thing. The  age  of  personal  sacrifice  had  not  come, 
so  we  were  satisfied  when  we  had  stirred  the  emotion 
and  received  some  response;  and  we  always  accepted 
the  offering  he  brought,  even  though  the  gift  was  too 
dilapidated  to  bestow  and  we  were  forced  to  destroy  it. 

Whenever  we  saw  in  him  an  impulse  which  urged 
to  better  things,  we  nurtured  it  with  care.  We 
watched  constantly  that  no  helpful  emotion  might 
be  aroused  without  receiving  an  immediate  opportu- 
nity of  active  expression;  for  we  realized  that  the 
moods  and  habits  which  would  develop  in  the  next 


FROM  SIX  TO  NINE  61 

period  of  his  life  would  spring  from  the  emotions 
and  acts  of  this  time. 

Activity  in  this  period  had  a  more  definite  purpose 
than  in  any  of  the  preceding  years,  and  was  more 
interested  in  what  it  could  accomplish  than  simply  in 
what  it  could  set  in  motion.  There  was  a  decided 
plan  in  his  actions,  a  fixed  goal  to  be  reached,  a 
positive  end  to  be  attained.  Oh,  he  was  so  very,  very 
busy,  with  a  little  head  full  of  ideas,  plans,  and  de- 
sires! He  demanded  my  assistance  in  every  leisure 
minute  I  could  get  to  help  him  do  something  or  make 
something. 

Finding  it  pleasant  recreation,  I  gave  him  as  much 
of  my  leisure  as  I  could  spare.  What  absurd  and 
impractical  ideas  he  had  at  times!  But  I  listened  to 
them  seriously  and  attentively,  for  a  laugh  or  even 
an  amused  smile  on  my  face  silenced  him.  As  far  as 
possible  I  carried  out  his  ideas. 

When  I  had  work  of  my  own  about  the  house  I 
called  him  and  asked  for  suggestions  as  to  how  it 
should  be  done.  Many  times  I  laughed  inwardly 
at  the  serious  manner  in  which  he  considered  some 
simple  task;  and  when  the  little  forehead  wrinkled  in 
perplexity  I  assisted  with  a  suggestion.  Ah,  but  it 
was  a  proud  little  fellow  who,  when  the  work  was 
finished  and  carefully  examined  by  each  of  us,  ex- 
claimed, "We're  the  boys  to  fix  things,  aren't  we, 
father?" 

And  I  answered,  "  Indeed  we  are.  I  do  not  know 
what  I  should  do  without  your  help." 


62  OUR  BOY 

Many  times  when  something  had  broken  I  heard 
him  say  to  his  mother,  "Wait  until  father  has  time 
and  we'll  fix  it."  Strong  emphasis  was  always  on 
that  personal  pronoun,  but  it  was  confidence  in 
himself  and  not  individualism  which  was  developing 
at  that  time. 

His  play  was  also  more  purposeful  than  in  the 
previous  years.  Then  he  had  run  for  the  mere  pleas- 
ure of  running;  now  he  raced  to  win.  Games  might 
also  have  more  fixed  rules  than  formerly,  and  he  in- 
sisted upon  each  player  observing  every  rule.  No 
matter  how  many  boys  of  his  own  age  were  in  the 
game  with  him,  however,  the  play  of  each  was  indi- 
vidualistic; there  was  absolutely  no  team-work. 

Of  course,  I  had  to  go  see  his  baseball  team  play. 
Each  boy  did  his  very  best,  but  each  played  solely 
for  himself.  It  was  never  a  game  between  two 
teams,  but  always  nine  boys  against  nine  boys. 
When  I  suggested  a  sacrifice  hit  the  little  batter 
looked  at  me  in  disgust.  Not  much !  He  wanted  to 
wallop  the  ball  and  show  what  he  could  do.  Let  the 
other  fellows  get  in  their  own  runs.  Since  each  boy 
demanded  the  position  which  would  make  him  most 
active  in  the  game,  pitchers  and  catchers  were  plenti- 
ful, but  there  was  always  a  dearth  of  outfielders.  A 
team  seldom  lived  longer  than  two  or  three  games. 

Imitation  during  this  period  became  more  ideal- 
istic. Heretofore  he  had  imitated  some  single  word, 
short  expression,  or  definite  act,  but  at  this  time  he 
was  more  interested  in  the  actors  than  in  their  words 


FROM  SIX  TO  NINE  63 

or  actions.  He  was  no  longer  satisfied  with  copying 
our  expressions  and  motions,  he  wanted  to  be  like 
us — in  fact,  to  be  our  real  selves. 

He  did  not  yet  consciously  make  us  his  ideals,  and 
there  was  still  little  selection  of  what  was  good  or  bad 
for  imitation,  except  as  he  endeavored  to  copy  the 
good  to  secure  our  approbation.  Praise  wras  always  an 
incentive  for  more  earnest  effort  and  better  conduct. 

His  wider  interests  again  showed  themselves  in  this, 
for  he  sought  imitable  examples  outside  of  the  home- 
circle,  and  the  characteristics  he  observed  in  his 
companions  and  teachers  became  a  part  of  his  life. 
Indeed,  I  believe  he  seldom  came  in  contact  with  any 
individual  without  taking  something  out  of  that  life 
and  making  it  his  own.  He  even  went  beyond  his 
visible  world,  and  from  the  stories  we  told  him  he 
selected  some  quality  of  the  persons  whom  we 
praised  and  made  it  an  example  for  himself. 

The  old  Bible  stories,  which  in  earlier  years  had 
appealed  to  him  because  of  their  message  of  God's 
goodness,  had  at  this  time  an  additional  charm, 
since  he  discovered  in  their  heroes  many  character- 
istics which  he  sought  to  emulate.  David  was  not 
only  the  lad  wonderfully  cared  for  by  God,  but  he  was 
the  youth  brave  enough  to  face  the  giant.  The  three 
Hebrews  appealed  to  him  not  simply  because  God 
protected  them  in  the  fire,  but  because  they  cour- 
ageously defied  a  wicked  king.  Daniel  ceased  to  be 
merely  the  man  whom  God  saved  from  the  lions,  and 
became  the  man  who  dared  always  to  do  the  right. 


64  OUR  BOY 

The  characteristics  he  admired  and  imitated  in 
these  men  were  not  yet  his  own  but  our  ideals,  and  he 
accepted  them  because  of  our  approval.  It  was  these 
supplied  ideals  which  became  the  foundation  for  the 
hero-worship  in  the  next  period  of  his  life. 

Formal  moralizing  or  preaching  made  no  impres- 
sion upon  him,  since  these  things  dealt  chiefly  in  ab- 
stractions, such  as  courage,  honesty,  charity,  and 
fidelity;  but  he  strove  to  emulate  each  of  these  quali- 
ties in  the  lives  he  admired.  He  did  not  inquire  if  an 
impulse  or  an  act  was  good  or  bad,  but  whether  a 
favorite  character  would  do  such  a  thing. 

To  my  adult  mind  the  old  Bible  characters  were 
shadowy  forms  of  antiquity,  but  to  his  active  imagi- 
nation they  were  real  and  present.  For  him  they 
did  not  live  in  another  age  under  different  conditions, 
but  were  a  part  of  his  own  world. 

In  the  same  way  Christ  ever  became  more  real  to 
him,  and  I  believe  there  were  times  when  his  imagi- 
nation placed  the  Saviour  actually  at  his  side  and  he 
verily  walked  with  God.  There  was  no  fear  of  the 
presence  of  the  Unseen  One,  for  the  love  and  confi- 
dence of  the  earlier  period  had  grown  and  crystallized. 
As  I  watched  his  spiritual  nature  unfold  I  understood 
more  and  more  clearly  that  if  I  were  to  find  the  King- 
dom of  God  upon  earth  I  must  surely  become  as  a 
little  child. 

Of  course,  he  endeavored  to  please  the  One  who 
did  so  much  for  him.  "Would  Jesus  like  that?" 
he  asked  many  times. 


FROM  SIX  TO  NINE  65 

Enough  of  the  earlier  individualism  remained  to 
make  the  self-element  still  conspicuous  in  his  love 
and  service.  Where  much  had  been  given,  he  would 
return  a  little;  but  it  was  the  beginning  of  a  loving 
service  which  presently  would  reveal  to  him  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  brotherhood  of  man  and  the  father- 
hood of  God. 


STEP  FOUR: 
FROM  NINE  TO  TWELVE 


67 


OUTLINE  OF  THE  PERIOD 


Play  becomes  outlet  for  tireless  energy. 
Fun-loving  nature  at  its  height. 

Religion  of  this  period  something  to  do  rather  than 
something  to  feel. 

Strong  social  instinct  shown  in  clubs,  teams,  and 
boon  companion. 

Awakening  interest  in  real  problems  of  life. 
No  attraction  toward  society  of  girls. 
Growth  of  self-reliance. 
Affection  less  impulsive,  but  deeper. 
Extreme  frankness  in  word  and  deed. 

Reading  becomes  a  passion — its  selection  needs  con- 
stant oversight. 

Hero-worship — a  blended  admiration  for  daring  and 
success. 

The  habit-forming  age. 

Conduct  still  governed  chiefly  by  personal  advantage 
.    and  motives  from  without. 

Training  right  feelings  through  physical  expression. 
Great  memory  period.     "Capping  quotations" 


STEP  FOUR:  FROM  NINE  TO  TWELVE 

THE  midsummer  of  childhood,  that  delightful 
period  between  the  mercurial  conditions  of  in- 
fancy and  the  severe  storms  of  adolescence,  began 
when  our  boy  was  about  nine  years  old.  Of  all  his 
photographs,  from  infancy  to  manhood,  I  like  best 
those  which  were  taken  at  that  time;  yet  every  pic- 
ture lacks  something, — something  which  I  remember 
lay  beneath  the  surface  and  back  of  the  eyes, — and 
that  something  is  animation,  "  the  divine  last  touch 
in  perfecting  the  beautiful." 

The  pictures  show  him  to  have  been  almost  perfect 
in  form,  but  they  fail  to  depict  the  ruddiness  of  com- 
plexion, the  luster  of  the  eyes,  the  earnestness  of  the 
expression,  the  intensity  of  every  act,  and  without 
these  things  I  cannot  imagine  him .  The  photographs 
are  chiefly  dear  to  me  because  my  memory  supplies 
what  they  lack. 

As  I  picture  him  now  in  a  mental  image,  perhaps 
my  imagination  makes  him  more  beautiful  than  he 
really  was,  or  perhaps  my  memory  is  kind  to  me, 
and,  forgetting  all  that  would  mar  or  blemish  the 
portrait,  reproduces  only  that  which  pleases.  I  sup- 
pose no  one  else  thought  him  very  different  from 
other  boys;  yet  when  I  picture  him  among  other  boys 
my  memory  always  draws  a  halo  about  him,  and  the 
halo  is  brighter  during  that  midsummer  period  than 
at  any  other  time. 

69 


70  OUR  BOY 

We  were  all  very  happy  during  that  time;  but 
unless  you  have  been  the  parent  of  such  a  boy  and 
lived  in  intimate  fellowship  with  him, — understand- 
ing, appreciating,  loving  him,  and  being  understood, 
appreciated,  and  loved  by  him  in  return — you  cannot 
know  how  happy  we  really  were.  He  was  the  sun- 
shine of  our  home;  and  we  gave  that  sun  every  oppor- 
tunity to  shine  in  all  its  brightness. 

The  restlessness  of  infancy  and  the  almost  ceaseless 
activity  of  earlier  childhood  had  developed  into  an 
energy  which  seemed  tireless.  It  was  intense  and 
purposeful,  always  exerted  for  some  definite  object. 
No  amount  of  toil  was  too  hard  or  too  tiresome  if  it 
promised  desired  results.  In  fact,  much  of  his  play 
was  real  work.  The  building  of  the  hut  in  our  yard; 
the  damming  of  the  brook  across  the  field  for  a  swim- 
ming-pool; the  clearing  and  care  of  his  baseball 
field — all  entailed  a  large  amount  of  real  labor. 

There  was  a  new  stick-to-it-iveness  in  him.  In- 
deed, I  used  to  marvel  very  often  at  his  patience  and 
perseverance  when  I  watched  him  work  for  days  on 
something  which  would  finally  give  him  but  a  few 
hours'  enjoyment.  Often  he  did  not  use  a  thing  even 
as  long  as  the  time  required  to  make  it,  for  when  he 
could  no  longer  expend  energy  upon  it  it  seemed  to 
lose  its  attraction.  There  appeared  to  be  as  much 
enjoyment  in  the  preparation  for  play  as  there  was 
in  the  actual  play  itself. 

I  do  not  mean  that  he  cared  less  for  play  than  be- 
fore; on  the  contrary,  I  think  his  fun-loving  nature 


FROM  NINE  TO  TWELVE  71 

was  at  the  height  of  its  intensity  and  transformed  the 
things  which  I  regarded  as  toil  into  play.  Life  for 
him  was  one  long  playday,  with  few  cares  and  little 
real  consideration  for  others. 

He  made  a  noise  without  caring  about  whom  it 
might  annoy;  he  tramped  dirt  into  the  house  without 
thinking  of  the  extra  work  it  caused  mother;  he 
soiled  and  tore  his  clothing  without  counting  the 
cost.  I  can  still  remember  how  often  I  started  at  the 
sudden  banging  of  a  door,  or  how  the  peacefulness  of 
a  quiet  house  was  changed  to  bedlam  when  he  and 
his  friends  came  trooping  in  from  school.  I  can  still 
see  the  mud  tramped  on  freshly  swept  carpet,  and 
recall  the  old  shoes  I  wore  that  he  might  have  new 
ones.  But  these  things  cast  no  shadows  on  my 
recollection  of  him,  for  they  only  show  that  he  was  a 
real  boy. 

An  insatiable  hunger  for  fun  seemed  to  be  the  pro- 
pelling force  of  his  life,  lying  behind  all  his  boyish 
pranks.  The  tricks  and  capers  which  most  annoyed 
our  neighbors  were  prompted  by  his  fun-loving  na- 
ture. Of  course,  it  was  "good  sport"  to  startle  or 
surprise  or  outwit  older  folks,  and  to  do  it  over  and 
over  again  if  they  got  cross  about  it. 

Whenever  a  neighbor  stopped  me  on  the  street 
and  began  to  apologize  for  an  unpleasant  task  he  had 
to  perform,  I  usually  interrupted  the  apology  by 
inquiring, 

' ' What  has  he  been  doing  now?" 

Or,  when  the  mother,  with  some  hesitancy,  said, 


72  OUR  BOY 

"Mrs.  Simpson  was  here  to-day/'  I  knew  the  little 
rascal  had  been  at  another  trick. 

I  smile  now  as  I  recall  how  hard  I  tried  to  be  a  good 
neighbor  that  I  might  create  some  sentiment  in  his 
favor. 

I  did  not  quarrel  with  my  boy  because  he  obeyed  a 
law  of  his  nature;  for  all  the  time  I  had  a  vision  of  a 
man  courageous  enough  to  withstand  evil,  shrewd 
enough  to  outwit  the  enemies  of  good,  humorous 
enough  to  remain  sweet  amid  the  trials  and  disap- 
pointments of  life. 

I  did  try  to  direct  his  pleasure-hunting  instinct  into 
right  channels;  and  to  do  that  I  needed  to  under- 
stand his  fun-loving  nature  and  enter  into  his  frolics. 
It  was  hard  sometimes  when  I  was  tired,  but  it  had 
its  reward.  There  was  nothing  like  a  hard  chase  in 
some  running  game  to  limber  up  my  stiffening  limbs, 
and  nothing  quite  so  good  as  a  fast  game  of  ball  to 
drive  dull  care  away. 

Besides,  it  was  in  the  games  that  I  found  my  best 
opportunities  to  teach  many  valuable  lessons  in 
honesty,  square-dealing,  and  justice.  Deep  down 
in  my  boy's  fun-loving  nature  I  discovered  a  door 
which  opened  into  his  very  soul,  and,  having  entered 
through  that  door,  I  found  myself  enshrined  in  that 
soul.  How  boastful  he  was  of  a  father  who  could 
beat  his  boy  friends  in  their  games! 

His  energy  was  also  apparent  in  his  spiritual  de- 
velopment; and  religion  during  this  time  was  some- 
thing to  do  rather  than  something  to  feel.  His 


FROM  NINE  TO  TWELVE  73 

early  love  for  the  God  who  had  done  so  much  for  him 
now  deepened  and  prompted  a  return  of  more  loyal 
service.  I  know  that  his  spiritual  vision  was  narrow 
and  that  he  comprehended  little  of  what  the  adult 
means  by  spiritual  life,  but  the  old  Bible  characters 
had  become  his  heroes,  while  Christ  was  very  real  and 
he  longed  to  use  his  energy  for  the  Master. 

He  did  not  care  to  speak  much  of  his  personal  ex- 
perience, yet  there  were  times  when  he  hesitatingly 
asked  some  question  about  Christ's  service  that  indi- 
cated the  thoughts  he  entertained.  We  encouraged 
acts  of  Christian  service  as  much  as  possible,  believ- 
ing that  such  service  must  precede  the  experience  and 
would  in  a  measure  produce  it;  while  the  experience, 
when  once  felt  and  understood,  would  find  better  ex- 
pression because  the  habit  of  service  had  been  already 
formed. 

The  social  instinct,  which  developed  rapidly  dur- 
ing this  time,  made  companions  of  his  own  age  and 
sex  more  necessary  than  ever.  I  never  knew  any 
other  creature  quite  so  democratic  as  he.  Boys  of 
any  nationality,  color,  degree  of  cleanliness,  or  stand- 
ard of  morality  might  belong  to  his  gang  if  they  lived 
on  his  street  or  in  his  section.  He  did  not  merely 
tolerate  them  either,  but  almost  literally  took  them 
into  his  arms.  They  were  his  equals  in  everything, 
except  perhaps  in  some  boasted  physical  feat  in  which 
he  excelled.  x 

His  clubs  preserved  their  organization  longer  than 
in  the  preceding  period.  The  baseball  team  was  a 


74  OUR  BOY 

real  nine  and  lasted  throughout  the  season.  His 
street  gang  was  wonderfully  organized,  with  leaders 
and  all  kinds  of  emergency  signals,  and  was  always 
ready  to  do  battle  with  the  boys  of  another  street. 

As  our  home  had  been  the  rendezvous  of  his  friends 
in  the  preceding  years,  it  naturally  became  the  head- 
quarters of  his  organizations.  To  be  sure,  the  cabin 
the  boys  built  in  the  yard  was  an  unsightly  affair,  but 
being  so  near  I  knew  what  kind  of  reading-matter 
went  into  it,  and  what  sort  of  stories  were  told  there. 
The  cabin  would  pass  with  the  next  change  in  life, 
but  the  influence  of  those  books  and  stories  would 
remain  forever,  so  we  thought  it  better  to  have  our 
lawn  disfigured  than  to  have  our  boy  harmed.  Of 
all  the  tokens  of  esteem  and  approval  I  have  re- 
ceived during  a  life-time,  I  prize  most  the  tribute 
those  boys  paid  me  when  they  admitted  me  to  that 
cabin  as  one  of  them. 

When  I  read  nowadays  about  the  conscience  of  a 
corporation  I  understand  exactly  what  is  meant,  for 
the  collective  conscience  of  a  gang  of  boys  was  always 
below  that  of  the  individual  members.  The  crowd 
would  plan  and  do  things  no  single  boy  would  think 
of  doing  nor  dare  to  do.  Of  course,  numbers  made 
them  bolder,  but  there  was  also  a  tendency  in  the 
gang  to  be  meaner,  more  thoughtless,  and  cruel  than 
any  individual  boy  belonging  to  it.  Our  problem  was 
how  to  lift  that  collective  conscience  to  a  higher  plane, 
and  in  solving  that  problem  we  found  it  necessary  to 
direct  the  activities  of  the  boys, — not  openly  or  arbi- 


FROM  NINE  TO  TWELVE  75 

trarily,  for  that  would  have  been  resented, — but  in 
so  disguised  a  manner  that  the  boys  would  always 
think  they  were  the  real  leaders. 

Not  only  did  this  social  instinct  in  our  boy  create 
his  gangs,  clubs,  and  teams,  but  it  also  sought  a  boon 
companion,  one  boy  who  above  all  others  should 
share  his  fun  and  enjoy  his  confidence.  Anticipating 
this  natural  tendency,  his  mother  and  I  had  been  es- 
pecially friendly  with  a  neighbor's  boy,  Ralph  Fer- 
guson, and  we  rejoiced  in  the  growing  intimacy  be- 
tween Ralph  and  our  own  boy.  They  were  together 
constantly  during  the  day  and  often  during  the  night. 
We  usually  had  two  boys  at  our  table  or  none  at  all; 
and  often  two  frolicsome  boys  went  to  bed  together 
either  at  our  house  or  at  our  neighbor's.  We  did 
not  become  jealous  when  Charles  called  the  Ferguson 
house  his  second  home,  for  Ralph  regarded  us  as  his 
second  father  and  mother. 

Neither  boy  had  any  pleasure  which  the  other  did 
not  enjoy,  nor  got  into  any  trouble  which  the  other 
did  not  share.  Each  was  also  wonderfully  loyal, 
even  to  the  extent  of  silently  enduring  blame  or  pun- 
ishment in  order  to  shield  the  other;  and,  better  still, 
in  honor  they  often  preferred  each  other.  Nature 
was  subduing  the  individualism  which  had  made  our 
boy  so  self-centered  in  the  previous  years.  In  the 
gang  he  was  satisfied  to  lead  or  to  follow  in  turn;  on 
the  team  he  made  sacrifice  plays  to  advance  some 
other  player;  to  Ralph  he  at  times  voluntarily  offered 
preferment. 


76  OUR  BOY 

The  two  boys  quarreled  occasionally,  but,  no 
matter  how  well  our  boy  might  get  along  without  the 
friendship  of  other  boys,  he  and  Ralph  never  re- 
mained long  at  enmity. 

"Where  is  Ralph?"  I  would  inquire  when  I  had  not 
seen  his  jolly  companion  for  a  whole  day. 

"I  don't  know  where  he  is,"  would  be  the  indiffer- 
ent answer. 

I  never  pressed  the  question,  and  after  our  boy  had 
wandered  aimlessly  and  listlessly  about  for  a  day  or 
two,  Ralph  would  reappear  at  our  table,  and  neither 
of  the  boys  would  show  any  sign  that  their  intimacy 
had  been  interrupted,  except  that  for  a  while  they 
were  just  a  little  more  friendly  than  usual. 

Through  it  all  we  could  see  how  God  by  his  natural 
laws  was  preparing  the  boy  for  the  day  when  he 
should  fill  a  man's  place  among  men. 

Charles  grew  constantly,  yet  at  this  time  there  was 
not  such  rapid  growth  as  during  the  period  preceding; 
and  for  this  reason  we  were  not  so  fearful  that  his 
intense  energy  would  lead  to  any  activity  which 
would  be  physically  injurious.  On  the  contrary,  we 
at  times  purposely  tired  out  his  body.  Whenever 
his  appetite  appeared  not  so  good  as  usual,  or  when 
he  showed  indication  of  mental  depression,  melan- 
choly, or  unwholesome  meditation,  we  sent  him  out 
into  the  open  air  for  some  game  or  on  an  errand  which 
we  knew  would  weary  him. 

For  the  same  reason  and  also  to  satisfy  his  desire 
for  male  companionship,  he  and  I,  and  occasionally 


FROM  NINE  TO  TWELVE  77 

Ralph,  took  long  tramps  together  through  the 
country.  While  the  boy  and  I  had  always  been  real 
comrades,  I  believe  that  at  this  time  a  better  under- 
standing existed  between  us,  and  that  there  was  more 
real  fellowship  in  our  intercourse  than  ever  before. 
We  got  very  near  to  nature  in  those  walks,  but,  better 
still,  we  got  very  close  to  each  other. 

It  was  amusing  at  times  to  see  him  try  to  fathom 
some  of  the  problems  of  life,  and  to  listen  to  him  as  he 
seriously  discussed  them.  He  tried  hard  to  be  a  man 
and  to  think  and  talk  as  a  man.  But  his  reasoning 
faculty  had  not  yet  reached  the  time  of  its  most 
rapid  development,  and  many  of  his  conclusions  were 
absurd  and  amusing.  He  did  his  best  to  get  my 
view-point,  yet  he  would  have  me  regard  him  as  an 
independent  thinker,  and  sometimes  tried  to  argue 
a  question  with  me.  I  never  smiled  at  his  crude  reas- 
oning, but  listened  quite  seriously,  while  inwardly  I 
was  shaking  with  laughter;  and  at  times  I  even  took 
a  wrong  view  of  some  question  that  he  might  have 
the  satisfaction  of  setting  me  right. 

Proud?  Ah,  yes.  I  can  see  him  now  as  he  strut- 
ted along  at  my  side,  head  erect,  cap  pushed  back, 
and  hands  thrust  deep  into  the  jacket  pockets.  It 
would  have  been  difficult,  however,  to  tell  who  was 
the  prouder,  the  boy  of  himself  or  the  father  of  the 
boy. 

In  demanding  companions  of  his  own  sex  there  was 
just  a  little  indication  that  he  regarded  himself  of 
finer  mettle  than  the  girls  whose  society  he  shunned. 


78  OUR  BOY 

We  made  no  attempt  to  disobey  the  law  of  his  nature 
by  forcing  him  to  associate  with  girls,  yet  we  were 
careful  always  to  speak  of  them  as  his  equals.  In 
the  home  I  gave  special  heed  to  his  mother's  opinions, 
and  when  the  boy  and  I  were  together  I  spoke  highly 
of  her  ability,  accomplishments,  and  personality.  In 
fact,  I  endeavored  to  exalt  womanhood  as  much  as 
possible  in  order  to  develop  in  him  a  deep  respect^for 
the  opposite  sex,  a  respect  which  in  later  life  would 
not  permit  him  to  wrong  one  of  that  sex. 

He  was  more  independent  and  self-reliant  than 
ever  before;  and,  while  we  did  not  force  him  to  decide 
between  right  and  wrong  in  matters  concerning  which 
he  had  not  the  necessary  knowledge  or  experience  to 
make  a  wise  decision,  yet  in  the  simpler  questions  of 
daily  conduct  and  occupation  we  allowed  him  to 
use  his  own  judgment. 

With  the  coming  of  this  new  independence  the 
winsomeness  of  earlier  years,  which  had  been  so  dear 
to  us,  disappeared.  We  missed  his  former  impulsive 
caress,  the  little  arms  which  had  encircled  our  necks 
so  tightly,  and  his  big  smacking  kiss.  He  loved  us  as 
much  as  ever,  perhaps  more  than  ever  before,  but  his 
love  was  not  so  demonstrative  or  impetuous.  Neither 
did  he  want  us  to  caress  him  as  in  previous  years.  He 
still  seemed  so  small  and  so  dear  that  it  was  hard  not 
to  catch  him  in  our  arms  as  we  had  done  in  the  past, 
but  if  we  attempted  it  he  freed  himself  as  quickly 
as  possible.  He  still  cherished  our  esteem,  however, 
and  I  believe  he  liked  me  to  place  my  hand  affec- 


FROM  NINE  TO  TWELVE  79 

tionately  upon  his  shoulder,  although  he  gave  no  in- 
dication of  his  appreciation.  If  it  had  not  been  that 
I  saw  the  love  in  his  eyes  and  that  I  knew  he  sought 
my  company,  while  at  times  he  sat  very  close  to  me 
on  the  couch  or  porch  bench,  I  might  have  thought 
I  was  losing  his  affection.  While  that  affection  had 
lost  its  old  impulsiveness,  there  was  to  me  something 
very  precious  in  his  deeper  love  which  was  alto- 
gether without  pretense  or  affectation. 

He  was  extremely  frank.  Indeed,  the  truth  in 
his  blunt  comments  sometimes  hurt.  He  did  not 
realize  the  sting  that  his  words  carried.  Some  of  the 
most  just  but  at  the  same  time  most  cutting  criti- 
cisms of  my  character  and  conduct  fell  unconsciously 
from  his  lips.  Not  that  he  respected  me  any  less,  for 
I  knew  he  was  still  proud  of  me,  but  he  spoke  out 
frankly  and  candidly  whatever  he  thought.  A 
courtesy  which  disguised  or  hid  the  whole  truth  was 
foreign  to  his  nature.  He  never  pretended  and  he 
hated  pretense  in  others.  He  was  not  yet  ingenious 
enough  to  meet  every  situation  with  the  tact  and 
skill  of  an  adult  accustomed  to  the  usages  of  polite 
society,  and  he  despised  a  polite  falsehood.  We 
tried  to  show  him  that  a  kind  reticence  on  subjects 
which  might  cause  pain  was  not  deception. 

The  same  frankness  was  apparent  in  his  judgment 
of  every  one  and  his  discussion  of  every  subject.  He 
either  liked  people  very  much  or  disliked  them 
thoroughly.  A  good  man  of  his  acquaintance  did 
not  have  a  few  faults  or  a  bad  man  a  few  good  quali- 


80  OUR  BOY 

ties;  a  man  was  either  altogether  good  or  entirely 
bad,  and  he  seldom  hesitated  to  indicate  the  classi- 
fication he  had  made. 

While  his  imagination  was  more  creative  than  in 
earlier  years,  since  it  had  more  mental  images  with 
which  to  build,  yet  in  his  general  conduct  toward 
other  people  he  was  more  literal  and  matter-of-fact 
than  ever  before.  He  demanded  the  real  facts  of 
every  subject;  he  insisted  upon  the  whole  truth;  he 
wanted  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  every  question  and 
hated  evasions  of  every  kind. 

Growing  independence  and  unabashed  candor 
prompted  him  to  speak  out  plainly  on  every  topic, 
even  on  those  things  which  most  intimately  concerned 
his  own  existence.  There  was  no  prudish  modesty 
about  him,  but,  on  the  contrary,  he  spoke  without 
hesitancy  or  blush  of  the  most  delicate  things  con- 
cerning his  physical  life.  I  never  allowed  the  dis- 
cussion of  these  subjects  to  become  base  or  vulgar, 
but  I  encouraged  the  mentioning  of  them  between 
ourselves,  knowing,  as  I  did,  the  importance  of  hold- 
ing his  confidence  in  such  matters  until  the  next 
period  of  his  life. 

He  had  a  strange  inclination  toward  anything 
which  distinguished  him  or  in  any  way  marked  him 
as  different  from  other  boys.  I  remember  his  first 
baseball  suit  and  how  difficult  it  was  to  prevent  his 
donning  it  simply  to  parade  through  the  streets.  He 
had  also  much  the  same  pride  in  a  small  Sunday- 
school  pin  presented  to  him  for  regular  attendance. 


FROM  NINE  TO  TWELVE  81 

The  pin,  of  course,  had  an  additional  value  since  he 
had  won  and  deserved  it. 

The  desire  to  attract  attention  and  the  old  yearn- 
ing to  win  approbation,  which  had  been  strong  all  his 
life,  were  more  apparent  at  this  time,  but  they  did  not 
reach  the  height  of  their  compelling  power  until  the 
next  period. 

In  his  school  studies  he  had  come  to  a  point  where 
he  could  read  without  laboriously  picking  out  the 
letters  and  words,  and  the  story-books  opened  an 
entirely  new  world  which  so  fascinated  him  that  the 
years  just  before  and  after  twelve  marked  the  great 
reading  period  of  his  life.  He  devoured  books.  The 
myths  and  fairy  tales  of  infancy  no  longer  satisfied 
him;  he  demanded  stories  of  adventure  and  daring. 

Mercenary  publishers  were  ready  to  supply  the 
demands  of  his  nature  with  their  dare-devil  yarns 
misrepresenting  life  and  fostering  wrong  ideals  and 
motives;  so  that  it  was  necessary  for  us  to  be  con- 
stantly on  guard  as  to  his  reading-matter.  We  never 
said,  "You  shall  not  read  this;"  but  we  gave  him  such 
attractive  accounts  of  what  we  ourselves  had  read  in 
desirable  books  that  we  kept  him  busy  reading  such 
books  to  find  these  things  for  himself.  Many  of  my 
trade  journals  remained  unopened  that  I  might  keep 
up  with  or  just  a  little  ahead  of  my  boy's  reading. 

To  develop  his  ability  in  expression  I  often  had 
him  repeat  whole  stories,  and,  of  course,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  be  a  sympathetic  listener.  More  than  one 
person  whom  we  met  on  our  walks  turned  to  watch 


82  OUR  BOY 

the  little  chap  as  he  glowingly  and  at  times  realistic- 
ally recited  some  adventure,  while  the  man  who 
walked  beside  him  listened,  all  attention,  until  the 
hero  was  out  of  danger. 

This  habit  of  discussing  together  what  he  had  read 
also  prevented  superficial  habits  of  reading.  He 
could  not  skim  through  a  book  or  skip  pages  to  reach 
the  more  exciting  parts,  for  I  was  sure  to  inquire 
about  the  very  things  he  missed.  By  this  method  we 
also  strengthened  his  power  of  attention  and  devel- 
oped his  memory. 

His  heroes  had  up  to  this  time  been  men  of  his  own 
world  or  of  the  stories  we  told  him,  but  his  reading 
now  opened  up  a  new  and  long  list  of  wonderful  char- 
acters, so  that  with  the  reading  age  came  also  the 
time  of  real  hero-worship.  No  mere  admiration  was 
it,  but  genuine,  whole-souled  worship.  He  bent  low 
before  his  hero;  his  entire  being  revered  his  great 
man. 

His  hero  was  without  flaw,  for  he  did  not  distin- 
guish between  the  good  and  the  bad  in  a  single  life, 
and  for  him  one  brave  act  or  one  kind  deed  effectually 
covered  a  multitude  of  sins.  When  I  attempted  to 
point  out  an  undesirable  trait  in  a  character  he  ad- 
mired, he  quickly  reminded  me  of  some  daring  feat  or 
some  noble  deed  the  man  had  performed. 

The  physical  element  appealed  to  him  most.  He 
admired  fighters  more  than  workers;  the  lowest  des- 
perado more  than  the  noblest  philanthropist.  The 
actual  deeds  impressed  him  more  than  the  motives 


FROM  NINE  TO  TWELVE  83 

behind  them.  A  brave  act  condoned  a  wicked  mo- 
tive; a  happy  result  pardoned  wrong  methods. 

Naturally,  he  selected  men  as  his  heroes;  but,  that 
we  might  deepen  his  respect  for  women,  we  did  not 
allow  him  to  forget  that  the  history  of  the  world 
presented  noble  women  as  well  as  brave  men.  No 
matter  how  courageous  the  women  were,  however, 
or  what  difficult  feats  they  accomplished,  they  never 
became  his  ideals.  He  gave  them  credit  for  their 
bravery,  honored  them  to  some  extent  because  of 
their  accomplishments,  but  never  considered  them  a 
pattern  to  be  copied. 

The  selection  of  his  heroes  was  influenced  by  suc- 
cessful achievement.  The  man  who  tried  and  failed, 
even  though  he  exhibited  more  courage  and  real 
ability,  was  never  so  great  as  the  successful  one. 
With  him  achievement  was  always  indicative  of  a 
heroic  worker  and  praiseworthy  methods;  while 
failure  was  due  to  poor  work  or  faulty  methods. 
He  could  not  see  the  heroic  in  a  struggle  that  did  not 
succeed.  Ever  dreaming  of  success  himself,  he 
copied  only  the  successful. 

Both  the  real  danger  and  the  highest  possibility 
of  this  hero-worshiping  instinct  lay  in  the  fact  that 
the  ideal  life  which  he  set  up  to  copy  was  a  composite 
of  the  lives  he  admired.  He  endeavored  to  feel  and 
exhibit  some  of  the  generosity,  bravery,  daring, 
determination  he  found  in  his  favorite  characters; 
yet  even  the  ideals  which  he  was  acquiring  from  his 
hero-worship  were  not  yet  strong  enough  to  remain 


84  OUR  BOY 

controlling  factors  for  any  length  of  time,  unassisted 
by  other  motives. 

Motives  for  right  action  were  imperative  during 
these  years,  for  it  was  the  great  habit-forming  age  of 
his  life.  The  impressionable  brain-cells  recorded 
each  act  and  made  its  repetition  more  easy  and 
natural.  He  was  acquiring  the  habits  which  would 
remain  with  him  through  life. 

Still  self-centered  to  a  large  extent,  he  asked 
that  every  act  bring  him  some  personal  advantage, 
gratification,  or  pleasure;  and  we  were  still  careful 
that  all  right  conduct  should  produce  pleasant 
results. 

While  we  always  offered  the  highest  motive  that 
would  be  effective,  we  never  hesitated  to  present 
what  to  the  adult  should  be  a  low  motive.  We 
purchased  right  conduct.  Personal  gain  was  always 
a  strong  inducement,  though  we  frequently  resorted 
to  the  fear  of  punishment. 

Later  periods  of  life  brought  the  ability  to  furnish 
higher  motives  from  within  himself,  but  at  this  time 
the  motives  needed  to  come  from  without,  and  right 
conduct,  prompted  by  the  highest  effective  motive, 
was  imperative. 

While  we  made  correct  conduct  as  pleasant  as 
possible,  we  did  not  altogether  excuse  him  from  the 
unpleasant  task;  but  usually  he  learned  to  enjoy 
what  he  had  at  first  thought  was  disagreeable. 
Many  acts  were  hard  and  irksome  because  he  did  not 
know  how  to  do  them,  and  we  insisted  upon  the  per- 


FROM  NINE  TO  TWELVE  85 

formance  of  such  acts  until  repetition  made  them 
easy  and  natural. 

The  law  of  habit  applied  to  his  emotions  as  well  as 
to  his  acts.  Moods  were  being  acquired  during  these 
years  which  would  not  be  easily  shaken  off.  As  an 
act  often  made  possible  a  higher  emotion,  so  the 
physical  expression  of  an  emotion  helped  to  create  a 
mood.  Laughing  made  him  cheerful,  while  growling 
strengthened  a  grouch.  So  closely  associated  was  the 
emotion  with  its  physical  expression  that  I  often 
wondered,  as  I  studied  him,  whether  happiness  made 
him  laugh  or  laughing  made  him  happy.  The  two 
were  inseparable. 

So  when  we  would  train  an  emotion  or  develop  a 
mood  we  asked  that  he  practice  its  physical  expres- 
sion. To  keep  him  as  affectionate  as  possible,  we  en- 
couraged the  caress;  that  he  might  revere  holy  things, 
we  showed  him  the  forms  of  reverence;  that  he  might 
be  courteous,  we  taught  him  the  rules  of  politeness; 
to  develop  charity,  we  showed  him  the  kindly  act. 

It  was  discouraging  at  times,  for  he  seldom  did 
quite  so  well  as  he  knew  how  to  do;  and  many  coun- 
cils did  his  mother  and  I  hold  when  we  became  dis- 
heartened because  results  did  not  appear  so  quickly 
as  we  desired.  I  think  we  were  a  little  impatient, 
not  willing  to  allow  God's  natural  laws  to  work  out  in 
their  own  way;  while  at  times  I  fear  we  expected  too 
much  of  the  boy.  He  was  still  only  a  child,  ever 
struggling  upward  in  his  blind,  groping  manner,  but 
as  yet  far  removed  from  the  matured  man. 


86  OUR  BOY 

In  that  reading  and  habit-forming  age  came  also 
the  great  memory  period.  Everything  which  came 
into  the  field  of  his  attention  made  a  lasting  impres- 
sion. He  committed  long  poems  and  Biblical  selec- 
tions with  but  little  effort.  Nor  were  we  so  careful 
not  to  cram  the  memory  or  to  tax  it  with  the  things 
which  he  could  not  fully  comprehend  or  for  which  he 
had  no  immediate  use.  In  fact,  it  seemed  impossible 
to  overtax  that  memory. 

In  his  school-work  at  this  time  he  began  the  serious 
study  of  history  and  geography,  and  he  found  little 
difficulty  in  remembering  dates  and  locations.  We 
also  urged  him  to  commit  many  gems  of  poetry  and 
choice  passages  from  the  Bible,  believing  that  a  mem- 
ory stored  with  such  things  would  prove  a  storehouse 
of  priceless  treasures  from  which  he  might  draw  in 
later  years. 

I  remember  a  game  which  we  played  many  times  as 
we  walked  together,  and  which  we  called  "capping 
quotations."  One  of  us  would  begin  with  a  short 
quotation  from  some  standard  author,  and  the  other 
would  follow  with  another  extract,  the  first  letter  of 
which  must  be  the  same  as  the  last  of  the  preced- 
ing quotation.  Whichever  misquoted  a  selection  or 
did  not  respond  promptly  lost  the  game.  Before 
long  we  each  had  at  our  tongue's  end  a  store  of 
quotations  beginning  with  every  letter  of  the 
alphabet. 

I  am  often  reminded  now  of  that  game  when  I  sit 
in  some  crowded  hall  and  hear  that  boy  of  mine  in  a 


FROM  NINE  TO  TWELVE  87 

public  address  freely  draw  from  the  best  authors  of 
every  age.  For  each  of  us  there  are  clustered  around 
many  of  those  old  quotations  sweet  memories  of  the 
years  that  have  gone;  yet  I  suppose  they  do  not  sug- 
gest so  much  of  the  past  to  him  as  they  do  to  me,  for 
his  eye  is  still  on  the  future  and  its  possibilities. 

The  midsummer  of  childhood!  What  a  happy, 
care-free  time  it  was  for  our  boy,  but  what  a  momen- 
tous time !  As  he  romped  and  played,  living  only  in 
that  happy  present,  nature  was  rushing  him  on  to 
maturity  and  preparing  him  for  the  morrow  of 
which  he  took  so  little  thought. 

The  blade  was  full-grown  and  the  ear  was  rapidly 
forming;  soon  would  appear  the  corn.  On  my 
father's  farm  I  had  through  many  a  long,  hot 
day  guided  the  cultivator  in  the  corn-field;  and 
during  that  midsummer  of  my  boy's  life  one  word 
cried  out  to  me  at  every  turn :  Cultivate !  Cultivate ! ! 
Cultivate!!! 


STEP  FIVE: 
FEOM  TWELVE  TO  SIXTEEN 


OUTLINE  OF  THE  PERIOD 


Period  of  adjustment — change  in  physical  nature, 
causing  moral  and  spiritual  awakening. 

Lack  of  poise  and  stability. 

Tendency  toward  superlatives  and  exaggeration. 

Hunger  for  stories  full  of  life  and  adventure,  with 
leaning  toward  the  sentimental. 

Second  period  of  rapid  physical  growth,  producing 
languor  and  indolence. 

With  reaction  comes  restless  desire  for  change  and 
motion. 

"  Running  away." 

Delight  in  outdoor  exercise  and  sports. 

Desire  to  sacrifice  self  for  others. 

Habits  becoming  permanent. 

Greater  pride  in  personal  appearance. 

Very  awkward  and  self-conscious. 

Dislike  for  girls'  society  less  marked. 

Awakening  of  sex  instinct  leads  to  increased  confidence 
in  parents. 

Spiritual  development: 
Religious  feeling  awakens. 
New  Testament  replaces  the  Old  in  interest. 
Appreciation  of  the  sacrificial  spirit  of  Christ. 

90 


STEP  FIVE:  FROM  TWELVE  TO  SIXTEEN 

THE  road  which  our  boy  traveled  during  the  first 
twelve  years  of  his  life  ascended  so  gradually 
that  at  times  the  rise  was  scarcely  perceptible,  while 
its  few  rough  places  were  easily  passed  with  a  little 
help  and  encouragement.  But  when  the  twelfth  mile- 
stone was  reached,  the  ascent  became  more  abrupt 
and  steep,  while  the  path  had  many  rough  and  stony 
places,  and  dangerous  fissures  opened  on  either  side. 

"Steady,  now,"  were  the  words  which  sprang  to 
my  lips  repeatedly,  yet  I  dared  not  often  utter  them 
lest  the  warning  should  startle  or  discourage  him. 
There  were  times  when  I  could  but  silently  watch  and 
pray  as  I  saw  him  approach  some  hazardous  place  in 
that  road, — some  significant  crisis  in  his  life. 

The  rapid  development  of  new  physical  organs, 
the  arousing  of  new  emotions,  created  new  ideals 
and  aspirations  and  caused  a  moral  and  spiritual 
awakening  that  was  much  like  an  upheaval.  To 
adjust  what  was  new  within  him  to  the  old  conditions 
was  as  difficult  a  task  as  would  have  confronted  him 
had  he  suddenly  been  borne  to  some  clime  whose 
environment  was  altogether  different  from  that  of  his 
native  realm. 

At  times  I  would  gladly  have  taken  him  in  my 
arms  to  carry  him  over  some  rough  place,  but  I  could 
not.  He  was  compelled  to  travel  that  stony  way  and 

91 


^2  OUR  BOY 

face  its  dangers  himself.  We  might  occasionally  lend 
a  helping,  guiding  hand,  or  speak  an  encouraging, 
counseling  word,  but  he  himself  must  put  forth  the 
effort  by  which  he  rose. 

The  struggle  within  him  between  his  old  self- 
centered,  small,  narrow  interests  and  the  newer  un- 
selfish, big,  world-wide  interests  which  were  endeav- 
oring to  assert  themselves,  became  a  real  battle. 
Between  the  great  forces  of  selfishness  and  unselfish- 
ness he  was  tossed  like  a  shuttlecock.  There  seemed 
to  be  no  middle,  neutral  ground  for  him. 

There  was  a  lack  of  poise  and  stability  about  him. 
He  did  not  understand  himself  nor  know  his  own 
mind.  One  minute  I  watched  with  pride  as  he  per- 
formed some  self-sacrificing  act;  the  next  I  blushed 
with  shame  at  some  meanness  in  him. 

We  never  knew  just  what  to  expect;  he  was  a 
bunch  of  contradictions.  One  day  he  would  pour 
out  his  whole  heart  and  soul  to  us;  the  next  he  was 
silent  as  a  sphinx.  At  one  time  he  eagerly  sought 
expression  for  every  emotion  he  felt;  at  another,  he 
was  the  severest  stoic  that  ever  lived. 

Ah,  there  was  no  understanding  him.  The  best 
we  could  do  was  to  watch  and  study  him;  being  ever 
ready  to  meet  his  changing  moods,  ever  ready  to 
help  when  help  would  be  accepted,  prompt  with 
advice  when  advice  would  be  appreciated. 

He  was  emotional,  easily  excited,  and  when 
aroused  was  stirred  to  the  depth  of  his  being.  If  he 
hated,  he  despised  with  all  the  animosity  of  his 


FROM  TWELVE  TO  SIXTEEN  93 

nature;  if  he  loved,  he  poured  out  his  whole  soul  in 
affection;  if  he  fought,  it  was  with  the  fierceness  of 
an  animal;  if  he  reached  a  helping  hand,  he  exerted 
all  the  strength  of  his  body. 

He  spoke  in  superlatives,  and  it  seemed  impossible 
for  him  to  get  any  accurate  idea  of  relative  values, 
for  he  exalted  unimportant  things  and  underrated 
things  of  real  worth.  He  wearied  us  with  his  gross 
exaggerations  or  his  complete  lack  of  appreciation. 
At  times  it  was  quite  amusing  to  hear  him  use 
extreme  terms  in  describing  ordinary  things,  and  we 
wondered  where  he  would  find  adequate  adjectives 
when  he  wished  to  speak  of  things  really  high  and  im- 
portant. He  always  succeeded,  however,  to  his  own 
satisfaction  at  least,  even  though  he  was  compelled 
to  crowd  a  double  superlative  into  a  sentence. 

Slang  composed  a  large  part  of  his  speech, — not 
vulgar,  but  meaningless  slang, — some  word  or  phrase 
which  he  had  heard  and  which  he  thought  added 
strength  or  manliness  to  his  conversation.  He  in- 
troduced a  new  language  of  the  street  into  our  home, 
and  many  times  I  was  both  grieved  and  disgusted  by 
some  pert  remark  he  made.  Where  he  learned  it  all 
puzzled  us.  How  it  secured  such  a  hold  upon  him, 
when  through  all  his  life  we  had  been  so  careful  of  our 
speech,  surprised  us. 

He  was  either  loud  and  positive  in  his  speech  or 
perfectly  silent.  When  he  did  talk  we  could  hear 
him  all  over  the  house;  when  he  made  an  assertion  it 
was  with  all  the  positive  arrogance  of  a  demagogue. 


94  OUR  BOY 

Was  it  not  well  that  in  this  period  of  extremes,  of 
instability,  of  adjustment,  he  was  more  susceptible  to 
influence  than  ever  before  in  his  life?  Rebuke  was 
of  little  avail,  advice  was  not  always  accepted,  cor- 
rection in  the  presence  of  others  so  embarrassed  him 
that  it  frequently  drove  him  into  open  rebellion;  but 
personal  influence  touched  his  life  and  left  a  lasting 
impression. 

Never  before  did  I  realize  the  secret  influence  of  my 
own  life  as  I  did  at  this  time.  He  had  imitated  me 
since  infancy,  and  as  he  grew  older  he  even  tried  to 
experience  my  emotions  and  to  think  as  I  did;  but 
at  this  later  period  he  studied  me  as  never  before. 
Frequently  he  would  sit  and  watch  me  as  if  he  sought 
in  me  something  he  did  not  possess;  or  as  if  he  yearned 
to  discover  what  made  the  difference  between  him, 
a  boy,  and  me,  a  man,  that  he  might  take  to  himself 
the  things  which  made  for  manliness.  Never  did  I 
feel  in  the  presence  of  any  one  else  that  the  inner- 
most recesses  of  my  soul  were  being  so  thoroughly 
examined. 

The  old  hero-worshiping  instinct  was  still  strong 
within  him,  and  there  had  as  yet  been  no  disillusion- 
ment to  destroy  the  perfection  of  his  great  men.  He 
made  no  attempt  to  explain  or  to  account  for  his 
heroic  characters  as  do  adults.  They  accomplished 
wonderful  things  because  they  were  themselves  great, 
and  what  they  were  and  did  he  might  aspire  to. 
The  influence  of  their  lives  did  more  to  steady  and 
strengthen  him  than  any  precept  we  offered. 


FROM  TWELVE  TO  SIXTEEN  95 

His  old  hunger  for  reading  continued  with  all  its 
former  intensity.  He  was  even  more  insistent  that 
his  fiction  be  full  of  life.  Goody-goody  books,  as  he 
called  them,  had  no  attraction;  but  one  which  teemed 
with  thrilling  adventure  fascinated  him,  for  the  phys- 
ical element  still  predominated  in  his  ideal  life. 
There  was  also  some  tendency  toward  the  morbid, 
the  fantastic,  the  sentimental  in  literature,  so  that 
it  became  increasingly  important  to  carefully  guard 
his  reading-matter. 

The  carelessness  of  other  parents  made  the  task 
more  difficult,  for  books  were  passed  from  boy  to  boy 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  it  was  hard  to  prevent  our 
boy  from  reading  some  undesirable  book  which  an- 
other had  lent  him  after  glowingly  describing  its 
contents.  To  positively  forbid  the  reading  of  such 
a  book  only  increased  his  desire  for  it  and  drove  him 
toward  secrecy  and  deception. 

When  he  was  fourteen  years  old  he  had  a  second 
period  of  accelerated  growth  which  made  great  de- 
mands upon  his  strength.  The  rapid  growth  of  the 
earlier  period  had  threatened  his  health  by  robbing 
it  of  its  share  of  vitality,  but  the  accelerated  growth 
of  the  fourteenth  year  decreased  his  activity  and 
impaired  his  moral  control. 

He  was  for  the  time  listless  and  lazy.  School-work 
was  harder  than  ever  before.  Often  he  went  to  sleep 
at  night  over  his  lessons.  He  had  not  sufficient  will- 
power to  shake  off  the  languor.  Even  the  knowledge 
that  his  schoolmates  were  outranking  him,  and  that 


96  OUR  BOY 

he  was  slowly  slipping  from  the  head  toward  the  foot 
of  his  classes  did  not  urge  him  to  greater  effort. 

We  did  not  scold  him  for  his  indolence,  although  it 
was  provoking  sometimes  to  see  such  a  big  boy  wan- 
dering about  so  listlessly.  We  knew,  however,  that 
when  growth  returned  to  its  normal  rate,  his  vitality 
would  naturally  flow  back  into  the  other  channels 
once  more. 

It  did  with  surprising  rapidity;  for  no  sooner  had 
he  stopped  growing  so  rapidly  than  he  became  ex- 
ceedingly restless.  He  was  in  almost  perpetual 
motion  again  and  demanded  constant  change.  It 
seemed  impossible  for  him  to  content  himself  with  the 
things  he  should  be  doing;  he  longed  to  undertake 
tasks  far  beyond  his  strength  and  ability. 

I  shall  never  forget  how  silent  he  was  one  night  at 
the  dinner-table,  while  I  wondered  what  wild  scheme 
he  was  turning  over  in  his  head.  It  came  out  when 
dinner  was  over. 

"Father,"  he  said,  "may  I  stop  school?" 

"Why?" 

"To  go  to  work." 

"Where?" 

"Down  in  Simpson's  factory." 

I  was  more  astonished  at  his  choice  of  employment 
than  surprised  at  his  desire  for  it. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  work  at  Simpson's?"  I 
asked. 

"Jim  Sullivan  works  there  and  gets  three  dollars  a 
week." 


FROM  TWELVE  TO  SIXTEEN  97 

"But  perhaps  they  would  not  employ  you,"  I 
said,  hoping  for  a  way  of  escape. 

"Oh,  yes,  they  will,"  he  quickly  answered.  "I 
was  down  there  to-day  and  they  told  me  to  come  to 
work  to-morrow  morning." 

Behind  the  request  to  stop  school  I  saw  a  deter- 
mination to  work  whether  he  had  my  permission  or 
not,  and  I  was  face  to  face  with  the  most  serious 
problem  his  life  had  yet  presented.  Its  difficulty 
was  increased  by  the  fact  that  the  desire  to  work 
was  a  natural  result  of  the  restlessness  within  him. 

I  spoke  earnestly  about  the  value  of  an  education; 
I  pictured  the  things  he  might  accomplish  as  an 
educated  man;  I  showed  him  the  opportunities  he 
would  surely  miss  by  leaving  school,  but  I  made 
little  impression,  for  all  the  time  a  voice  within  him 
cried  for  change,  while  down  in  Simpson's  factory  was 
a  machine  he  longed  to  get  his  hands  on. 

I  ended  by  insisting  that  he  go  to  school  the  follow- 
ing day,  while  in  my  heart  I  feared  that  he  would  dis- 
obey me.  My  fears  were  well  founded,  for  a  little 
after  the  noon-hour  my  wife  called  me  on  the  tele- 
phone to  say  that  Charles  had  not  been  home  for 
lunch,  and  that  Ralph  Ferguson  told  her  he  had  not 
been  at  school. 

I  spoke  as  cheerfully  as  I  could  with  my  own  heart 
so  heavy.  At  her  request  I  promised  to  inquire  at 
Simpson's,  although  I  knew  the  uselessness  of  the 
inquiry.  Our  boy  had  run  away. 

At  dinner-time  he  had  not  returned;  and  while  we 


98  OUR  BOY 

had  little  fear  that  any  physical  injury  would  befall 
him,  it  was  with  troubled  souls  that  we  made  a  feeble 
attempt  to  eat. 

The  evening  dragged  itself  away  until  nearly  bed- 
time before  we  heard  the  shed-door  quietly  open  and 
footsteps  stealthily  climb  the  back  stairs.  My  wife 
looked  at  me;  then,  silently  going  to  the  kitchen 
where  the  dinner  had  been  kept  warm,  she  arranged 
a  meal  and  carried  it  to  our  boy's  room. 

I  never  knew  exactly  what  happened  in  that  room, 
but  it  was  a  very  repentant  boy  who  came  down  to 
breakfast  the  following  morning.  The  episode  was 
forgotten  as  quickly  as  possible.  You  see  he  could 
not  have  helped  it.  The  instinctive  restlessness 
within  him  was  stronger  than  his  undeveloped  will, 
and  he  simply  obeyed  the  strongest  force  in  his 
nature. 

He  went  back  to  school  without  a  murmur  or  pro- 
test, and  we  at  once  increased  his  weekly  allowance  of 
pocket-money,  asking  that  in  return  he  perform  some 
of  the  household  duties  to  which  I  had  previously 
attended. 

When  the  period  of  accelerated  growth  was  past  he 
returned  to  his  outdoor  exercise  with  a  renewed  vigor 
which  delighted  us,  for  we  knew  that  a  strong,  healthy 
body  was  one  sure  safeguard  against  immorality. 
The  vitality  consumed  in  bodily  exercise  could  not 
be  used  in  impure  thoughts  or  lustful  acts.  Be- 
sides, we  did  not  hesitate  to  impress  upon  him  that  a 
strong  body  was  conditioned  on  purity  of  life;  and 


'We  hejird  the  shed-door  quietly  open."  P.  98. 


FROM  TWELVE  TO  SIXTEEN  99 

we  drew  on  his  admiration  of  heroic  characters  to 
strengthen  the  teaching.  Everything  toward  which 
he  aspired  demanded  that  he  be  both  strong  and 
pure. 

I  could  not  take  so  active  a  part  in  his  sports  as  I 
had  done  previously,  as  age  disqualified  me;  yet  I 
was  careful  that  there  was  no  abatement  of  my  inter- 
est in  athletics.  I  watched  over  the  training  he 
underwent,  many  times  acting  as  a  coach  for  his 
teams,  and  so  kept  in  close  touch  with  what  most 
interested  him;  while  by  the  same  means  I  was  able 
to  make  suggestions  regarding  the  personnel  of  his 
clubs,  and  to  some  extent  direct  and  control  the 
speech  and  conduct  of  the  boys. 

The  altruistic  emotions  which  developed  so  rapidly 
during  these  years  were  the  highest  product  of  his 
social  instinct,  since  they  prompted  him  to  act  for 
the  good  of  others,  either  alone  or  with  other  people. 
He  experienced  at  times  an  almost  irresistible  impulse 
to  sacrifice  self.  Why,  the  ambitious  boy  would 
have  offered  himself  as  a  missionary  had  we  not 
shown  him  that  his  youth  made  it  impractical !  His 
head  was  full  of  all  kinds  of  schemes  by  which  he 
might  endanger  his  life,  injure  his  health,  or  risk  his 
reputation;  not  because  he  was  daring  or  foolhardy, 
but  because  there  was  within  him  an  impulse  to  dis- 
regard self  in  the  service  of  others. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  it  was  now  possible  for 
him  to  be  really  selfish.  For  fourteen  years  he  had 
put  self  first,  because  it  was  the  law  of  his  being. 


100  OUR  BOY 

During  all  those  years  he  had  been  extremely  self- 
centered,  yet  not  selfish,  but  with  the  awakening  of 
the  altruistic  instinct  there  came  both  the  necessity 
and  the  ability  to  choose  between  selfishness  and 
unselfishness.  The  conflict  between  the  old  law  of 
self  first  and  the  new  self-sacrificing  emotions  was  a 
desperate  one,  and  for  about  a  year  he  was  either 
inordinately  selfish  or  wonderfully  self-sacrificing,  so 
that  it  was  doubtful  which  force  would  ultimately 
triumph. 

Of  course,  we  threw  all  our  help  on  the  side  of  the 
ennobling  emotion.  We  represented  charity  as  the 
greatest  of  virtues;  we  pointed  out  opportunities 
for  helpfulness;  we  praised  every  sacrifice  he  made. 
With  all  our  watchfulness,  progress  was  rather  slow 
and  discouraging;  yet,  as  I  look  back  upon  that 
period  from  this  vantage-point,  I  realize  that  it  was 
not  a  bit  slower  than  God  intended  it  should  be. 
Gradually  but  surely  the  boy  put  away  the  things  of 
childhood  and  took  on  the  characteristics  of  man- 
hood. We  were  too  close  and  too  impatient  to  see 
clearly  the  wonderful  changes  which  were  taking 
place  in  him. 

The  habits  and  moods  which  began  to  form  in  the 
preceding  period  now  became  stronger,  and  many  of 
the  most  invaluable  which  he  retained  throughout 
life  had  already  become  permanent.  His  brain  had 
about  reached  the  limit  of  its  growth  and  held 
tenaciously  the  tracings  of  habits.  The  hardening  of 
the  brain  cells  in  the  years  which  immediately  fol- 


FROM  TWELVE  TO  SIXTEEN  101 

lowed  made  those  tracings  almost  ineffaceable,  and 
what  we  had  failed  to  accomplish  in  habit  and  mood 
formation  up  to  that  time  became  daily  more  difficult 
and  in  many  instances  impossible. 

During  these  years  we  noticed  a  tendency  to  take 
more  pride  in  his  personal  appearance.  The  rumpled 
hair  was  straightened  out  and  plastered  down  with 
much  water  and  brushing;  the  mud  disappeared  from 
the  shoes;  the  clothes  were  brushed  more  frequently. 
Needless  to  say,  we  rejoiced  in  these  changes,  for  we 
had  always  tried  to  train  him  in  neatness,  but  with 
rather  discouraging  results,  and  it  was  quite  gratify- 
ing to  see  him  voluntarily  and  naturally  do  the  very 
things  which  before  he  had  too  often  shirked,  in  spite 
of  our  instruction. 

The  new  personal  consciousness  which  caused  him 
to  take  thought  of  his  appearance  also  made  him  very 
self-conscious.  He  imagined  every  one  was  watching 
him  and  carefully  observing  each  of  his  movements, 
so  that  when  in  the  presence  of  older  people  he  was  in 
a  constant  state  of  embarrassment.  Even  though 
they  did  not  speak  to  him  or  notice  him,  his  imagina- 
tion pictured  them  as  being  critical  of  his  every  act 
and  word. 

Add  to  this  self-consciousness  the  fact  that,  since 
the  muscles  were  developing  faster  than  the  bones, 
perfect  control  of  muscular  action  was  impossible, 
and  you  have  the  reason  for  his  awkwardness,  which 
caused  him  much  annoyance  and  other  folks  much 
merriment.  In  infancy,  when  he  was  learning  to  con- 


102  OUR  BOY 

trol  his  muscular  action,  there  was  a  certain  natural, 
unconscious  grace  about  his  movements,  but  in  these 
later  years  he  was  just  an  overgrown,  clumsy  boy. 
When  there  were  strangers  present  he  was  likely  to 
make  a  mess  of  everything  he  undertook.  If  he 
moved  at  table  he  often  upset  something,  and  when 
he  tried  to  right  that,  something  else  went  over;  if 
he  walked  across  a  room  he  stumbled  over  table  or 
chair  leg,  or,  meeting  neither  of  these,  he  sometimes 
actually  fell  over  his  own  feet. 

His  feet  and  hands  were  a  constant  annoyance,  for 
he  was  painfully  aware  of  them  and  never  knew  just 
what  to  do  with  them  or  where  to  hide  them.  They 
seemed  to  grow  faster  than  any  other  part  of  his 
body,  and  I  suppose  appeared  fearfully  large  to  him. 

I  often  felt  sorry  for  him,  even  when  I  was  com- 
pelled to  laugh  at  his  awkwardness.  Of  course, 
laughter  only  increased  his  embarrassment  and  made 
his  clumsiness  more  noticeable;  while  the  blush  which 
came  to  his  face  at  such  times  often  provoked  still 
more  comment  and  laughter.  Poor  boy!  What 
trouble  he  did  have  with  those  unruly  members  of 
his  own  body! 

To  make  the  matter  worse,  his  desire  for  apprecia- 
tion increased.  He  really  wanted  folks  to  approve 
his  conduct,  and  the  realization  that  many  of  his 
actions  created  ridicule  rather  than  praise  increased 
his  self-consciousness,  until  at  times  it  was  difficult 
to  get  him  to  do  anything  at  all  in  public. 

His  hunger  for  praise  and  appreciation  had  two 


FROM  TWELVE  TO  SIXTEEN  103 

entirely  opposite  results.  Either  he  feared  to  at- 
tempt anything  lest  he  do  wrong  and  receive  censure 
instead  of  praise,  or  he  attempted  everything  in  order 
to  attract  attention  to  himself.  In  turn,  he  was  either 
bashful  and  quiet  or  forward  and  boisterous.  The 
same  boy  who  would  not  speak  a  word  in  a  parlor 
for  fear  some  one  would  hear  him,  went  shouting 
through  the  streets  to  make  people  hear  him. 

Closely  connected  with  his  new  personal  conscious- 
ness was  his  pride  in  the  family's  social  position.  He 
wanted  to  know  if  my  income  was  as  large  as  that  of 
other  boys'  fathers;  he  wanted  us  to  make  as  good  an 
appearance  as  other  families;  he  wanted  our  house  to 
be  furnished  as  well  if  not  a  little  better  than  any 
other  in  the  community.  Beneath  this  was  that 
canker,  covetousness,  which  destroys  more  human 
happiness  than  any  other  sin  of  the  race.  We  tried 
our  best  to  teach  him  that  inward  worth  and  nobility 
counted  for  more  than  outward  appearance.  Alas, 
how  often  beauty  to  him  was  as  she  appeared  and 
not  as  she  did! 

There  was  also  in  him  an  increasing  social  appe- 
tite, and  companions  daily  became  more  necessary; 
but  he  was  less  democratic  and  more  careful  in  the 
selection  of  his  comrades.  Not  always,  however, 
did  he  choose  true  worth,  for  too  often  his  stand- 
ards were  mercenary  and  superficial.  The  boy 
with  the  most  money  and  the  best  clothes  attracted 
him.  There  certainly  seemed  to  be  a  strange 
perversity  in  him  which  confused  real  values. 


104  OUR  BOY 

To  guard  him  from  undesirable  companions  be- 
came more  difficult  as  the  danger  of  evil  associates 
increased.  We  could  not  keep  him  in  the  home  so 
much  as  we  had  previously;  he  was  not  a  little  sissy 
chap  who  would  remain  tied  to  his  mother's  apron- 
strings,  but  a  real  boy,  with  all  a  boy's  natural  de- 
sires and  energy.  Fortunately  he  and  Ralph  Fer- 
guson remained  boon  companions,  and  our  personal 
knowledge  of  Ralph  and  his  home-training  caused  us 
to  regard  him  as  a  safe  comrade. 

The  repugnance  to  the  society  of  girls  which  he 
had  shown  a  few  years  earlier  slowly  disappeared. 
While  he  did  not  actively  seek  their  company,  he 
did  not  reject  their  proffered  friendship  with  the 
disgust  of  the  previous  period.  He  appeared  to  be 
awakening  to  the  fact  that  the  opposite  sex  must 
have  a  place  in  his  life,  but  was  undecided  as  to  just 
what  place.  I  often  saw  both  amusement  and  per- 
plexity on  his  face  as  he  watched  a  group  of  girls. 

He  was  gradually  becoming  conscious  of  that  sexual 
impulse  which  in  the  next  few  years  would  develop 
into  the  most  powerful  factor  in  his  life, — the  instinct 
from  which  would  spring  the  highest  or  the  lowest 
emotions  he  could  experience.  We  made  no  attempt 
to  hinder  the  awakening  of  this  instinct,  for  we  wished 
him  to  know  exactly  what  was  taking  place  both  in 
his  body  and  in  his  soul. 

Every  law  of  health  and  of  morals  required  that 
the  functioning  of  the  sexual  organs  should  not  take 
place  until  long  after  this  instinct  had  become  strong, 


FROM  TWELVE  TO  SIXTEEN  105 

and  the  duty  before  us  was  to  teach  him  the  proper 
control  of  the  instinct.  Neither  could  we  keep  him 
in  ignorance  of  sex  functions  unless  we  prevented  all 
association  with  other  boys  and,  sadder  still,  with 
some  men. 

The  developing  of  these  new  physical  powers 
which  created  new  and  strange  appetites,  and  whose 
functions  he  did  not  properly  understand,  puzzled 
him.  The  best  we  could  do  was  to  explain  candidly 
the  functions  of  the  sexual  organs,  their  influence 
upon  his  health  and  manhood,  and  to  be  ever  watch- 
ful that  he  did  not  resort  to  any  unnatural  mode  of 
gratification. 

How  thankful  I  was  that  I  had  been  able  to  retain 
his  confidence  until  that  time!  While  he  did  not 
speak  so  frankly  about  these  things  as  in  earlier 
years,  owing  to  the  new  personal  consciousness,  yet, 
with  only  such  hesitancy  as  revealed  his  apprecia- 
tion of  the  delicacy  of  the  matter,  he  came  to  me 
with  the  mysterious  problems  of  sex  which  were 
vexing  him. 

I  have  read  some  of  the  books  on  sex  hygiene  pre- 
pared for  the  instruction  and  guidance  of  the  children 
of  this  later  generation;  and  while  I  must  admire  the 
manner  in  which  the  subject  is  often  presented,  I 
rejoice  that  few  such  books  existed  when  my  boy  was 
young.  I  fear  they  might  have  led  me  to  shirk  my 
responsibility  and  offer  as  an  excuse  that  the  books 
handled  the  subject  much  better  than  I  could.  I 
suppose  I  made  blunders;  I  know  some  of  my  ex- 


106  OUR  BOY 

planations  were  faulty  and  crude,  but  the  boy  and  I 
spoke  heart  to  heart  with  each  other.  No  book, 
however  ably  written,  could  have  come  quite  so  close 
to  him  as  I  did,  nor  led  him  to  lay  bare  his  thoughts 
so  frankly  as  he  did  to  me. 

A  great  hunger  to  know  the  secrets  of  life  gnawed 
in  his  soul.  A  natural  hunger  it  was,  created  by  the 
proper  development  of  physical  organs  at  the  right 
time,  and  a  hunger  which  I  tried  with  all  the  tact, 
candor,  and  intelligence  I  possessed  to  satisfy.  I 
knew  full  well  that  the  insistence  of  every  unan- 
swered question,  every  unsatisfied  quest  for  knowl- 
edge would  force  him  to  search  for  information  in  less 
desirable  places.  I  wanted  my  boy  for  my  very  own 
as  much  as  I  ever  did,  and  to  keep  him  I  was  com- 
pelled to  satisfy  his  hunger  for  knowledge  of  these 
things. 

Thank  God  that  I  did  keep  him.  He  was  mine  in 
that  uncertain,  changeable  period  as  he  had  never 
been  before.  He  sought  me  with  greater  confidence; 
he  looked  up  to  me  with  more  pride;  he  trusted  me 
with  greater  faith;  he  understood  me  better  and 
loved  me  more  than  in  any  preceding  period  of  his 
life — all  because  I  endeavored  to  satisfy  the  de- 
mands of  his  nature. 

His  control  of  the  sexual  instinct  created  a  large 
amount  of  sexual  energy  which  had  much  to  do 
with  the  spiritual  awakening  which  came  at  this  time. 
I  never  perfectly  understood  the  close  relation  exist- 
ing between  his  sexual  and  religious  instincts.  Per- 


FROM  TWELVE  TO  SIXTEEN  107 

haps  I  never  shall,  for  it  may  be  one  of  the  mysteries 
of  life  which  God  has  hidden.  I  could  not  doubt, 
however,  that  there  was  a  strange  fellowship  between 
the  two  instincts.  His  real  spiritual  awakening  came 
at  the  time  when  he  first  took  a  conscious  interest  in 
the  opposite  sex,  and  in  later  life  he  was  always  most 
deeply  religious  when  the  sexual  impulse  was  strong- 
est; or  vice  versa,  for  it  was  often  difficult  to  tell 
which  was  cause  and  which  effect. 

He  was  about  fourteen  years  old  when  he  began  to 
realize  that  religion  had  something  to  do  with  the 
emotions  as  well  as  with  the  activities;  that  faith 
implied  confidence  as  well  as  obedience;  that  God 
was  a  Spirit,  and  that  religion  had  a  deeper  signifi- 
cance than  he  had  ever  before  attached  to  it.  The 
New  Testament  usurped  the  place  the  Old  Testament 
stories  had  so  long  held  in  his  interest.  The  abstract 
truths  of  religion  began  to  claim  his  attention  and  he 
asked  many  puzzling  questions. 

Finally  the  day  arrived,  which  above  all  others 
I  shall  ever  remember,  when  he  came  to  me,  with  a  lit- 
tle hesitation  and  some  stammering,  to  declare  that 
he  wished  to  be  a  Christian.  With  a  glad  heart  I 
held  out  my  hand  to  him,  for  I  recognized  in  religion 
the  greatest  force  in  the  world  to  keep  him  pure  and 
noble. 

A  Christian?  Why,  he  had  begun  to  love  God  al- 
most as  soon  as  he  had  loved  us;  his  confidence  in 
God's  care  was  often  stronger  than  ours;  he  had  long 
endeavored  to  please  the  God  who  did  so  much  for 


108  OUR  BOY 

him.  A  Christian?  Many  times  I  had  wished  I 
were  half  as  trustful  and  consistent  a  one  as  he. 

But  at  the  moment  he  came  to  me  I  recognized  a 
changing-point  in  his  life.  I  could  not  tell  him  that 
he  had  always  been  what  he  then  desired  to  be,  for 
he  wanted  a  new  experience;  neither  could  I  urge  a 
repentance  for  sins  of  which  he  had  never  been  con- 
scious. I  could  only  direct  him  in  a  more  complete 
surrender  of  himself  to  the  Infinite  Father  and  the 
Loving  Saviour.  Conversion  for  him  was  a  volun- 
tary and  definite  giving  up  of  himself  at  the  time 
when  his  soul  passed  from  a  vague  to  a  distinct  con- 
sciousness of  God's  claim  upon  him  and  of  Christ's 
sacrifice  for  him. 

So  came  and  went  the  years  of  early  adolescence, 
— years  which  in  their  coming  brought  to  us  a  new 
lad  and  in  their  going  left  behind  a  still  different  one. 
The  years  of  absorption  were  about  over;  those  of 
adjustment  had  come. 


STEP  SIX: 
FROM  SIXTEEN  TO  MANHOOD 


109 


OUTLINE  OF  THE  PERIOD 


Physical  changes  of  early  manhood. 
Rapid  development  of  mind  and  soul. 
Conduct  marked  by  deepening  interest  in  others. 
A  genuine  "  ladies9  man."     His  first  sweetheart. 

Inner  life: 

Religious  devotion  deepens  his  love  for  nature  and 

art. 

To  do  right  becomes  a  matter  of  inner  conviction. 
Interest  in  mythology  and  other  religions  strengthens 
faith  in  Christianity. 

Hero-worship  not  alone  admiration  for  hero,  but  respect 
for  principles  he  represents. 

Reasoning  faculty  strengthens. 

Period  of  doubt  leading  to  real  faith. 

Will  a  dominant  force. 

Ardent  enthusiasm  and  over-confidence. 

Choice  of  life-vocation. 

College  days. 

Marriage. 

"  Like  father,  like  son." 


no 


STEP  SIX:  FROM  SIXTEEN  TO  MANHOOD 

IN  the  early  twilight  of  a  spring  day  I  was  hurrying 
home  from  the  office  when  I  saw  my  wife  and  boy 
walking  leisurely  up  the  street  a  few  yards  ahead  of 
me.  She  had  slipped  her  arm  through  his  and  was 
leaning  ever  so  gently  upon  him.  Time  had  been 
kind  to  her  and  her  step  retained  much  of  its  early 
buoyancy,  yet  he  was  compelled  to  shorten  his  stride 
to  keep  pace  with  her.  He  had  outgrown  her  in 
height,  and  her  face  was  turned  up  toward  his  and  his 
down  toward  hers.  Perhaps  you  may  have  seen 
lovers  strolling  that  self-same  way. 

I  had  been  walking  quite  rapidly,  but  at  sight  of 
them  I  slackened  my  pace  that  I  might  not  overtake 
them  too  quickly,  for  I  enjoyed  watching  them  to- 
gether while  they  thought  themselves  unobserved. 
She  was  so  proud  of  her  big  boy,  and  he  so  thoughtful 
of  his  gentle  mother! 

Something  in  the  boy's  bearing  that  day  arrested 
my  attention  and  awakened  in  me  a  strange,  inde- 
finable sense  of  loss.  I  had  a  vague  notion  that 
something  I  valued  had  gone  out  of  my  life,  and  it 
was  some  minutes  before  I  could  understand  the 
sensation. 

Just  sixteen  years  before  I  had  been  startled  to 
find  an  infant  when  I  had  expected  a  man-child; 
this  day  I  was  surprised  to  find  a  man  in  one 

ill 


112  OUR  BOY 

whom  I  had  so  long  regarded  as  a  child.  Infancy, 
babyhood,  childhood,  boyhood  had  come  and  gone. 
My  sixth  boy  had  come — a  youth. 

I  noticed  with  a  thrill  of  pride  the  respect  shown 
my  wife  and  boy  by  every  acquaintance  they  met. 
I  even  saw  some  turn  and  take  a  second  look  at 
mother  and  son  before  they  saw  me  following.  Why 
shouldn't  I  be  proud  of  them?  I  felt  a  sense  of 
possession,  an  ownership  of  which  no  man  could 
despoil  me. 

I  quickened  my  step  and  overtook  them.  The 
mother  slipped  her  other  arm  through  mine,  and 
there  was  nothing  lacking  in  the  greeting  of  either; 
yet  that  feeling  of  irreparable  loss  clung  to  and  sad- 
dened me.  It  had  always  been  so.  Each  changing 
period  in  my  boy's  life  found  me  striving  to  keep  the 
old  and  force  back  the  new;  yet  each  change  in  him 
had  brought  a  distinct  advantage  which  overshad- 
owed the  loss.  My  regret  at  this  time  was  because 
I  did  not  yet  realize  the  gain  which  this  latest  change 
would  bring;  for  who  would  keep  a  child  when  he 
might  have  a  man? 

Yes,  youth  with  all  its  new  dangers  and  greater 
possibilities  had  arrived;  and,  like  all  other  things 
which  come  by  growth,  it  had  come  gradually  and 
silently,  unobserved  by  me  until  this  sudden  awaken- 
ing. I  marvelled  at  my  blindness,  for  all  the  signs  of 
middle  adolescence  had  been  before  my  eyes,  clear 
now  that  the  eyes  were  open. 
$  There  were  the  broader  shoulders  which  accom- 


FROM  SIXTEEN  TO  MANHOOD  113 

pany  the  healthy  development  of  the  reproductive 
organs;  the  strange  hoarseness  in  his  changing  voice; 
the  firmer  tread;  the  indication  in  every  movement  of 
greater  strength  and  better  control  of  muscular  ac- 
tions. Little  wonder  that  his  mother  instinctively 
leaned  upon  him. 

But  greater  than  these  physical  changes  was  the 
rapid  development  of  the  mind  and  soul.  The  al- 
truistic feelings  which  had  begun  to  assert  themselves 
in  the  preceding  period  were  stronger  in  this,  and 
became  a  real  compelling  and  controlling  force. 
There  was  a  wider  sympathy,  a  more  rational  charity 
in  his  nature. 

He  had  been  polite  to  a  certain  extent  before,  be- 
cause we  had  taught  him  the  customs  of  society,  but 
formal  politeness  gave  place  to  sincere  courtesy  as  his 
heart  took  its  true  place  in  the  control  of  conduct. 
He  had  learned  the  rules  of  etiquette  and  their  prac- 
tice had  become  a  matter  of  habit  with  him,  but  now 
there  was  a  sincerity,  a  whole-heartedness  which 
impressed  people  and  won  their  admiration. 

The  earlier  impulse  to  make  a  blind  sacrifice  of 
health  or  of  life  in  service  for  others  was  not  so  strong, 
but  the  desire  to  be  of  real  practical  use  was  greater. 
The  old  longing  for  approbation  and  the  fear  that  he 
might  not  win  it  still  produced  some  backwardness 
in  him,  but  the  continued  excess  of  physical  energy 
urged  him  to  service. 

I  do  not  mean  that  he  was  an  "angel."  Far  from 
it.  The  conflict  between  the  self-centered  interests 


114  OUR  BOY 

of  boyhood  and  the  unselfish  interests  of  maturity 
had  not  yet  been  fought  to  a  decisive  issue.  He 
was  still  somewhat  uncertain  of  himself,  still  con- 
siderably puzzled  by  the  new  physical  forces,  mental 
powers,  and  spiritual  aspirations  he  felt  within  him, 
and  he  made  mistakes  in  interpreting  and  applying 
these  new  forces. 

Care  of  his  personal  appearance  became  almost  a 
mania  with  him.  Mud  upon  his  shoes  or  dust 
upon  his  clothes  irritated  him.  At  times  we  feared 
he  would  develop  into  a  genuine  "dude"  whose 
chief  thought  would  be  dress  and  personal  adorn- 
ment. 

Beneath  this  fastidiousness  lay  a  desire  to  attract 
the  attention  of  the  opposite  sex,  and  he  sought  the 
society  of  girls  as  ardently  as  he  had  shunned  it  a 
few  years  earlier.  He  was  a  real  gallant  and  threat- 
ened to  become  a  genuine  "  ladies'  man." 

Such  earnest  seeking  of  their  company  soon  dis- 
covered one  girl  who,  in  his  judgment,  was  more 
attractive  than  any  other,  and  she  became  his  first 
sweetheart.  Being  just  as  ardent  a  lover  as  the 
young  lady  was  exacting,  he  neglected  everything 
for  her.  A  far-off,  dreamy  expression  replaced  his 
hitherto  animated  one.  Athletics  and  sports  were 
now  attractive  chiefly  as  they  served  to  display  his 
skill  or  strength  before  her  admiring  eyes.  Many  boy 
friends  were  neglected,  for  he  sought  the  society  only 
of  those  boys  who  were  participating  in  similar  love- 
affairs  and  had  like  experiences  to  relate.  I  have 


FROM  SIXTEEN  TO  MANHOOD  115 

no  doubt  that  many  secret  notes  passed  between  him 
and  his  sweetheart,  and  that  they  had  their  trysting- 
places  in  order  to  make  this  first  love-affair  appear 
more  romantic.  He  was  so  terribly  in  earnest  that 
many  times  we  wished  we  might  deport  all  the  girls 
and  this  one  in  particular.  It  seemed  impossible  to 
check  the  growing  infatuation.  Indifference  on  our 
part  accomplished  nothing;  ridicule  and  advice  were 
alike  unavailing. 

It  did  not  last  long,  however,  for  the  very  intensity 
of  the  infatuation  was  its  undoing.  It  burned  itself 
out,  but  it  left  its  mark  upon  our  boy,  for  he  was  never 
again  quite  the  same  as  before. 

Back  on  my  father's  farm,  when  the  young  bull 
with  head  erect  paced  the  pasture  and  bellowed  his 
first  defiance  to  the  neighbor's  bull  across  the  valley, 
or  when  the  stallion  with  flowing  mane  and  tail 
dashed  across  the  meadow  proud  of  his  strength  and 
speed,  my  father  always  looked  to  the  strength  of  his 
fences,  but  invariably  ended  the  examination  by  say- 
ing, "It  is  no  use;  there  is  not  a  fence  on  the  place 
high  enough  to  keep  them  in." 

So  we  recognized  the  folly  of  attempting  to  erect 
any  fence  between  our  boy  and  the  girls.  The  only 
rational  course  to  pursue  with  this  instinct  was  to 
wisely  and  tactfully  direct  its  control. 

The  intimate  connection  between  the  instincts  of 
sex  and  of  religion,  which  we  had  first  observed  dur- 
ing the  preceding  period,  was  still  more  noticeable  in 
this.  Love-making  appeared  to  have  left  him  time 


116  OUR  BOY 

and  ambition  only  for  religious  devotion  and  a  pas- 
sionate love  of  nature  and  of  art. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  conviction  became 
strong  enough  to  be  a  controlling  motive,  and  he 
espoused  right  because  it  was  right.  Heretofore  it 
had  been  necessary  for  us  to  furnish  a  motive  for 
right  conduct,  and  frequently  to  use  as  that  motive 
some  promise  of  personal  gain  or  threat  of  personal 
loss;  but  at  this  time  we  could  usually  expect  him 
to  supply  the  motive  and  correctly  decide  between 
right  and  wrong.  In  fact,  we  forced  him  to  make 
decisions;  urged  him  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  con- 
science, which  we  had  taught  him  was  really  God 
speaking,  and  left  him  to  his  own  resources  as  much 
as  possible. 

He  exhibited  a  new  and  intense  interest  in  myth- 
ology, for  he  realized  that  myths  were  not  simply 
the  fanciful  tales  he  had  previously  thought  them, 
but  the  result  of  primitive  man's  attempt  to  deify 
nature  and  nature's  forces.  He  fairly  crammed  his 
head  with  mythological  lore. 

From  this  deeper  interest  in  mythology  he  gradu- 
ally passed  to  a  somewhat  serious  study  of  compara- 
tive religion.  No  fanaticism  was  too  absurd  to  in- 
terest him.  He  imagined  that  the  great  task  of  dis- 
covering the  one  true  religion  among  the  many  in 
which  men  have  believed  devolved  upon  him,  and 
that  the  whole  world  was  breathlessly  awaiting  his 
decision.  The  responsibility  of  finding  the  one  true 
religion  for  himself  did  rest  upon  him,  and  his  study 


FROM  SIXTEEN  TO  MANHOOD  117 

of  pagan  religions  deepened  and  strengthened  his 
faith  in  Christianity. 

His  love  of  nature  became  a  real  passion,  and  he 
saw  God  in  the  natural  world  and  its  laws  as  he  had 
never  done  before.  There  was  much  sentimentality 
mixed  with  this  love,  but  I  found  a  real  pleasure  in 
walking  through  the  country  with  him.  Where  be- 
fore I  had  pointed  out  the  beauties  of  nature,  he  was 
now  able  to  show  them  to  me. 

He  was  now  better  able  to  discriminate  between  the 
real  and  the  unreal,  the  essential  and  the  unessential 
things  of  life;  to  see  behind  an  act  the  motives  which 
prompted  it;  to  compare,  to  consider,  to  judge  more 
accurately  and  justly.  The  old,  blind  hero-worship 
which  had  regarded  successful  achievement  as  more 
praiseworthy  than  right  motive  died  out  in  him,  or, 
rather,  was  supplanted  by  a  higher  kind  of  worship 
which  looked  behind  the  men  he  admired  to  the 
causes  they  represented.  He  became  more  interested 
in  the  causes  of  revolutions  and  of  moral  reforms  than 
in  the  men  back  of  such  movements.  Physical  powers 
and  physical  endurance  attracted  him  only  when 
they  were  exerted  for  righteous  ends.  Loyalty  to  a 
principle,  devotion  to  duty,  won  his  respect  and  ad- 
miration, even  though  that  loyalty  and  devotion 
resulted  in  failure.  Strange  as  it  may  seem  after  his 
earlier  tendency  to  glorify  success,  I  believe  that  in 
these  later  years  failure  after  noble  and  heroic  effort 
only  increased  his  admiration.  That  tendency  to 
take  the  part  of  the  under-dog,  which  appears  only 


118  OUR  BOY 

in  the  human  animal  and  seems  a  contradiction  of 
the  brutality  of  nature,  became  strong  in  him. 

A  wise  provision  of  nature  delayed  the  rapid  de- 
velopment of  the  reasoning  faculty  until  this  period, 
when  broader  interests,  wider  sympathies,  and 
more  numerous  conceptions  made  the  results  of  his 
reasoning  more  sure.  Of  course,  he  had  done  some 
instinctive  reasoning  from  the  time  he  learned  to 
speak,  since  some  generalizing  and  classifying  was 
necessary  before  he  could  understand  the  meaning 
of  words  and  apply  them  to  various  objects;  but  his 
reasoning  had  been  confined  to  the  concrete  objects 
of  his  play  and  experiences,  and  not  until  he  reached 
this  age  was  there  any  real  abstract  reasoning. 

I  fear  the  public-school  methods  actually  delayed 
the  development  of  his  reasoning  faculty,  although 
we  were  assured  that  many  of  the  studies  in  the 
curriculum  which  were  of  no  immediate  or  practical 
use  to  him  were  intended  for  mental  development. 
The  practical  method  of  instinctive  reasoning 
prompted  by  his  own  acts  and  experiences,  which 
was  so  valuable  in  early  childhood,  was  stifled  when 
the  teacher  demanded  that  he  consciously  exercise 
a  faculty  over  which  he  had  little  control.  The 
problems  and  truths  presented  had  so  little  imme- 
diate bearing  upon  his  acts  and  experiences  that  the 
solution  or  application  which  the  teacher  offered  was 
tacitly  accepted  by  him  without  consideration.  If 
his  arithmetic  had  offered  problems  which  appealed 
to  his  senses;  if  geography  had  begun  with  his  en- 


FROM  SIXTEEN  TO  MANHOOD  119 

vironment ;  if  history  had  started  with  events  of  his 
own  time;  if  science  had  first  solved  the  practical 
problems  of  his  own  life,  his  reasoning  faculty  would 
have  received  more  natural  stimulation. 

When  he  finally  became  conscious  of  the  wondrous 
faculty  of  real  deductive  reasoning,  he  hastened  to 
refer  every  matter  to  it,  and  anything  he  could  not 
reason  out  he  refused  to  accept  as  true.  What  an 
obstinate  skeptic,  doubter,  infidel  he  became! 
What  strange  arguments  his  undisciplined  reasoning 
faculty  offered!  Many  of  the  conclusions  to  which 
he  tenaciously  clung  were  absurd,  and  it  was  a  real 
problem  sometimes  to  make  him  realize  that 
there  were  things  of  the  heart  and  the  soul  which  the 
reason  could  not  understand. 

Even  in  this  time  of  greatest  doubt  his  faith  in 
God  grew  stronger;  or,  rather,  the  first  real  faith  of 
his  experience  replaced  the  more  ready  trust  of 
childhood  with  which  he  had  accepted,  without 
serious  question,  anything  we  had  offered  him  as  true. 
When  he  doubted,  questioned,  and  refused  to  believe 
without  proof,  he  was  laying  the  foundation  of  a  faith 
based  upon  personal  and  positive  assurance. 

During  this  time  the  will  developed  into  a  domi- 
nant force.  I  remember  a  certain  obstinacy  of  his 
childhood  which  some  folks  named  will-power,  but 
which  we  regarded  as  an  indication  of  a  complete 
lack  of  such  power,  since  the  will  was  not  strong 
enough  to  control  the  impulses  of  the  moment,  which 
made  him  stubborn  in  spite  of  himself.  Throughout 


120  OUR  BOY 

this  period  of  later  adolescence  the  will  developed 
into  a  controlling  force.  A  new  determination  crept 
into  his  expression,  a  greater  firmness  into  his  man- 
ner, revealing  a  stronger  confidence  in  himself  and 
in  his  ability  to  make  that  self  do  as  he  desired. 

He  possessed  an  enthusiasm  which  refused  to  be 
cooled  and  a  courage  which  would  not  be  daunted. 
He  dreamed  of  a  future  which  should  be  full  of 
achievement,  honor,  and  power.  The  failures  of 
other  men  had  no  influence  upon  him.  He  would 
"rush  in  where  angels  feared  to  tread." 

This  enthusiasm  and  over-confidence  in  himself, 
together  with  his  lack  of  appreciation  of  the  stern 
problems  of  maturity,  made  the  selection  of  a  life- 
vocation  difficult.  Back  in  his  childhood  days,  be- 
fore the  advent  of  the  trolley  car,  the  position  he 
aspired  to  oftenest  was  that  of  horse-car  driver,  and 
some  of  the  ambitions  of  his  late  teens  were  just  as 
absurd.  There  was  scarcely  any  life-work  for  which 
he  at  some  time  or  other  did  not  feel  a  special  fitness 
and  strong  desire. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  age  of  his  greatest 
uncertainty  and  indecision  was  also  the  time  when  he 
scorned  advice  the  most.  How  all-sufficient  and 
self-reliant  he  was!  His  repulses  often  hurt  or  an- 
gered me.  And  yet  I  believe  he  actually  yearned 
for  the  counsel  he  openly  scorned,  but  some  fear  that 
the  acceptance  of  advice  might  indicate  lack  of  manly 
independence  led  him  indignantly  to  spurn  it. 

I  was  glad  that  I  had  kept  in  such  personal  touch 


FROM  SIXTEEN  TO  MANHOOD  121 

with  him  and  had  followed  his  school-work  so  closely 
that  I  might  now  be  of  real  practical  help  to  him  in 
this  time  of  his  special  need,  although  the  help  I 
offered  had  to  be  carefully  disguised.  While  he  was 
longing  to  be  a  car-driver,  his  mother  and  I  had  se- 
lected the  ministry  for  a  life-calling,  but  as  he  grew 
older  he  developed  certain  characteristics  which 
forced  us  to  give  up  our  pet  ambition.  When  the 
time  arrived  to  make  the  final  decision  we  were  con- 
fident that  he  was  best  fitted  for  the  legal  profession. 

This  conclusion  once  reached,  we  undertook  to 
influence  him  toward  it.  We  spoke  of  the  need  of 
honest,  justice-loving  lawyers;  we  pointed  out  the 
opportunities  for  unselfish  public  service  which  the 
profession  afforded,  until  one  day  he  announced  that 
he  would  study  for  the  law,  and  he  thought  that  he 
had  made  the  decision  alone. 

It  meant  college.  His  mother  and  I  could  not  help 
a  pang  of  pain  as  we  thought  about  it,  for  it  would 
bring  our  first  separation.  The  boy,  however,  looked 
forward  to  college  days  with  a  pleasure  and  an  im- 
patience which  almost  hurt  us.  Oh,  he  was  as  kind 
as  a  boy  could  be  with  a  brilliant  future  ever  in  mind. 
He  promised  to  write  regularly,  to  run  home  often,  to 
keep  us  ever  in  thought;  but  we  knew  only  too  well 
that  the  day  he  went  to  college  would  mark  a  divid- 
ing-place in  our  lives. 

The  day  came  at  last.  My  pen  loses  its  enthusi- 
asm as  I  recall  it.  We  were  very  cheerful  as  we  bade 
him  good-by.  Too  cheerful,  in  fact,  for  it  betrayed  a 


122  OUR  BOY 

forced  emotion.  I  remember  the  look  on  his  mother's 
face  when,  after  re-entering  the  house,  she  replaced 
a  chair  he  had  moved  and  re-arranged  a  pile  of  books 
on  the  table  which  his  coat  had  overthrown.  How  un- 
natural the  house  seemed  without  him.  Our  interests 
were  transferred  from  the  home  town  to  the  college. 

He  kept  his  promise  to  write  often — breezy,  cheerful, 
affectionate  letters.  The  studies,  together  with  the 
social  and  athletic  interests  of  school-life,  kept  him  too 
much  occupied  for  many  visits  home.  The  vacation- 
times  were  the  bright  periods  of  those  years,  but  dur- 
ing some  of  them  he  visited  among  his  college  chums. 

We  had  no  serious  fear  that  he  would  indulge  in 
what  most  people  call  the  "  sowing  of  wild  oats." 
To  us,  indeed,  such  indiscretions  seemed  not  a  sowing 
at  all,  but  a  reaping  of  seed  sown  during  earlier  years. 
We  believed  that  we  knew  the  soil  in  which  we  had 
planted,  and  felt  sure  the  seed  sown  in  it  would 
produce  good  grain. 

We  went  down  to  the  college  on  the  gala  days,  and 
were  delighted  with  the  respect  and  consideration  he 
showed  us,  while  his  popularity  among  both  instruc- 
tors and  students  made  us  happy.  Ralph  Ferguson, 
who  was  studying  for  the  ministry,  was  at  the  same 
school  and  the  two  were  still  boon  companions. 

At  the  close  of  his  college  course  he  secured  a  fine 
opening  with  a  successful  law  firm  in  one  of  the  large 
cities.  Our  local  paper  announced  that  he  had 
"accepted"  this  desirable  position,  and  we  smiled  as 
we  thought  of  how  hard  he  had  worked  to  obtain  it. 


FROM  SIXTEEN  TO  MANHOOD  123 

For  the  next  two  or  three  years  our  news  of  him 
came  chiefly  through  his  letters,  for,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  short  summer  vacations,  he  was  not  often 
home.  Then  our  local  paper,  with  neighborhood 
pride,  began  to  copy  items  about  him  from  the  city 
papers.  His  name  appeared  as  associate  counsel  in 
more  than  one  important  case;  he  had  entered  poli- 
tics and  was  taking  an  active  part  in  the  struggle  for 
civic  righteousness. 

A  letter  from  him  finally  brought  us  face  to  face 
with  the  question  of  his  marriage,  of  which  we  had 
many  times  thought  and  talked. 

"To  the  Dearest  and  Best  of  Mothers: 

"  I  am  tired  out  and  want  to  come  home  for  a 
rest.  Do  not  worry  over  this,  for  I  am  as  well  as 
ever.  I  am  simply  played  out  and  the  doctor 
advises  a  short  vacation.  I  know  of  no  better 
place  to  rest  than  in  the  old  home  with  you  and 
father. 

"  I  should  like  to  bring  with  me  a  young  lady 
whose  acquaintance  I  am  sure  you  will  both  be 
glad  to  make.  She  wants  to  see  you  very  much, 
but  hesitates  to  come  unless  her  mother  comes  also. 

"  The  mother's  name  is  Mrs.  Helen  Montgomery, 
the  daughter's  name  is  Alice,  and  their  home,  where 
they  have  made  me  very  welcome,  is  at  No.  519  — 
Street.  They  are  unaffected,  home-loving  people, 
whom  it  will  not  be  hard  to  entertain.  Will  you 
ask  them  for  the  sake  of 

"Your  Boy?" 


124  OUR  BOY 

It  did  not  take  long  to  recover  enough  from  the 
surprise  to  send  a  warm  word  of  invitation,  and  soon 
we  had  news  of  the  day  of  their  arrival.  The  interval 
was  a  time  of  subdued  but  very  real  excitement. 
The  old  house  was  turned  inside  out  lest  a  speck  of 
dust  might  lurk  in  some  corner.  Certainly  the 
mother  intended  to  impress  upon  the  guests  the  kind 
of  housekeeping  to  which  her  son  had  been  accus- 
tomed. 

When  the  day  came  I  drove  over  to  the  station  to 
meet  them  and  left  behind  a  rather  nervous  wife. 
The  boy  met  me  with  outstretched  hands.  Some 
changes  had  come  to  him, — the  changes  which  add 
strength  and  manliness  to  youth.  And  Alice, — well, 
she  was  not  at  all  the  city  beauty  we  had  expected 
and  feared.  As  she  came  forward  with  just  a 
little  hesitancy  in  her  step  and  an  anxious  question 
in  her  eyes,  but  with  a  pleasant  smile  on  her  lips  and 
an  extended  hand,  I  thought  she  was  the  most  at- 
tractive girl  I  had  ever  seen.  Behind  her  was  a  sweet 
and  gentle  lady,  her  mother.  For  some  reason 
Charles  made  Alice  ride  on  the  front  seat  with  me, 
and  before  we  reached  the  house  I  had  decided  that 
if  the  boy  should  marry  her  he  would  bring  to  us  a 
daughter  who  would  add  much  to  our  happiness. 

Mother  met  us  at  the  door.  Charles  first,  of 
course,  then  Alice.  For  one  second  the  two  women 
looked  at  each  other,  then  the  mother's  arms  went 
around  the  girl  and  she  had  taken  her  to  her  heart. 

The  visit  passed  all  too  quickly.     It  was  good  to 


"  Mother  met  us  at  the  door." 


P.  124. 


FROM  SIXTEEN  TO  MANHOOD  125 

have  Charles  with  us  again,  and  still  better  to  have 
Alice  also.  Somehow  she  made  us  feel  that  she  was 
not  taking  him  from  us,  but  that  he  was  bringing  her 
to  us.  Perhaps  it  might  have  been  different  if  we 
had  had  a  daughter,  but  having  none  of  our  own,  she 
seemed  just  what  we  desired  in  one. 

I  do  not  know  how  his  mother  managed  it,  but 
when  the  time  came  for  them  all  to  return  to  the 
city  she  persuaded  Alice  to  remain. 

On  the  morning  of  her  mother's  and  Charles' 
departure  I  was  in  the  stable  harnessing  old  Bess 
to  take  them  to  the  station  when  he  came  in  and 
said,  "Will  she  do,  father?" 

"  Well,  she's  pretty  old  for  a  horse,  but  I  think  she 
will  do  for  a  few  years  longer,"  I  replied,  purposely 
misunderstanding  him. 

He  laughed  in  a  rather  embarrassed  manner  as  he 
said,  "I  meant  Alice,  not  Bess." 

"  Alice  is  good  enough  for  anything  or  anybody  in 
this  world,"  I  said,  with  enthusiasm. 

If  we  liked  her  when  Charles  was  with  her,  we 
loved  her  when  he  was  gone.  She  was  by  far  the 
dearest,  purest,  most  wholesome  and  sensible  girl  I 
ever  knew,  except  his  mother. 

The  next  winter  we  went  to  the  city  for  the  wed- 
ding, a  quiet  affair  in  the  Montgomery  home. 
Charles  and  Alice  made  a  home  for  themselves  in  one 
of  its  residence  suburbs,  and  now  we  have  two  homes 
instead  of  one.  When  the  old  house  gets  lonely,  we 
run  down  to  the  city;  and  when  we  tire  of  the  fuss 


126  OUR  BOY 

they  make  over  us  there,  back  we  come  to  the  quiet 
of  our  own  home,  for  even  Charles  and  Alice  cannot 
make  that  elegant  city  house  quite  like  home  to  us. 

And  now  I  am  nearly  done.  Have  I  earned  the 
right  to  preach  a  little  ?  But,  wait  a  minute !  There 
is  a  quick,  firm  step  coming  down  the  hall,  and  ac- 
companying it  the  pitter-patter  of  little  feet.  My 
door  is  thrown  open.  A  man  stands  there,  and  be- 
side him  a  five-year-old  boy  whom  I  might  mistake 
for  my  own  come  back  again,  were  it  not  that  this 
child  seems  just  a  little  stronger  and  sturdier,  and 
did  I  not  know  that  the  years  which  have  gone  can- 
not return. 

The  man  speaks.  "  Charles  and  I  are  waiting  to 
take  a  walk  with  you,  father." 

And  the  youngster  adds,  "Yes,  hurry,  grandpa!" 

Hurry!  These  children  are  always  in  such  a 
hurry;  but  then  childhood  is  so  short  a  time  for  the 
acquisition  of  all  that  will  be  needed  in  maturity! 

They  are  impatient  and  will  allow  me  time  for  only 
the  text  of  my  sermon :  "  Whatsoever  a  man  soweth, 
that  shall  he  also  reap." 

That  noble  man  standing  there  in  the  doorway, 
with  the  next  generation  beside  him,  proves  it. 


***««» 


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